


Fame and Fortune

by LyingMonsters



Series: Aleatory-verse [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Berlin Wall, Cold War, Fluff, Inspired by Elvis Presley songs, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Musicians, Period-Typical Homophobia, Secret Identity, Slow Burn, Spies & Secret Agents, bartending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2020-05-16 22:14:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19327141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LyingMonsters/pseuds/LyingMonsters
Summary: Lovino Vargas is a barkeeper and reluctant Stasi informant. As much as he despises what he does, he obeys the terrifying Red Army colonel, Ivan Braginsky. That is, until the secretive and frustratingly attractive Antonio Fernandez Carriedo arrives in his life and breaks all the rules.Inspired by the Elvis Presley song of the same name.





	1. Chapter 1

_June, 1961, East Berlin_

Lovino Vargas hated his job. Barkeeping for the bright-eyed rebels and the tired soldiers didn't pay enough to support his brother being a West artist, which was what mattered. There was only one job in the East that mattered enough to pay that well.

All the dreamers who whispered their plans about the West between their drinks, all the old veterans murmuring about giving their wife and child a better life on the American side-Lovino heard their hopes and lives when they were too drunk to think and he told the Stasi.

Lovino pulled his collar up higher and crumpled the crisp bills in his pocket. It was him or them, that's what his handlers said. He told them who was a dissenter or they would tell everyone that he-or God, worse, his little brother-had _those_ kinds of inclinations.

 _What do you have to tell me this time, little informant?_ The voice of the colonel was still in his head. Lovino shuddered. He hated reporting to him. He hated that he was ruining so many people. If he was a braver man, he would decide to stand strong, but he was a coward. At least he could admit it.

The Stasi didn't need their expensive equipment or their armed forces. They just needed someone scared and vulnerable and cowardly, someone who would allow their hands to be bloodied but couldn't bear to see one person hurt, and they would become its greatest weapon.

Lovino unlocked the door and stepped into the familiar dusty light of the bar. He used to love the place until it became just another listening post for the Stasi. Lovino felt sick to his stomach every time he thought of it.

He crossed to the bar and poured himself a glass of the private, good bottle of wine he kept behind the mirror. It would be better with the hot smoke of a cigarette in his throat, but they were too expensive, and his last pack was almost empty.

Lovino would have liked to go to bed immediately, since he'd been up all night and most of the morning with customers, but he wanted to write to Feliciano. And then he had to go track down the useless Dane who handled all the transactions to the West nowadays. He hadn't shown up for weeks. Lovino hoped nobody had informed on him. It was a wonder he hadn't been caught already, with all his bounding about like a dog, paintbrushes spilling out of his pockets.

However, there was something about Kalmar that made Lovino think of Feliciano. Maybe it was the wide-eyed excitement about everything, or just that he always smelled of paints. Besides, he was the only person who could guarantee getting money across to who you wanted in the West anymore, and since Lovino couldn't go over himself anymore, he would be a fool to lose that opportunity.

The only question was who-not if, but who-Kalmar would eventually sell him out to. The man had to know he was an agent. Still, he always delivered for nothing more than a few extra drinks at the end of the night.

Lovino took a drink himself and started writing about business and art and other silly, pointless things, because Feliciano didn't know he was an informer. And-Lovino's chest felt tight and painful as he thought of the people who were being woken up now and dragged away-it all had to be worth it, for Feliciano. Every time he signed his name as his Stasi nickname, as _Romano_ , it was for him.

He should go find Kalmar immediately. The longer you had West marks here, the more likely you'd lose them, but the sunlight was dancing along the oiled tables and everything was quiet and still. Lovino's head felt fuzzy and he was filled with heavy, oily loathing. He didn't want anything more with his secrets tonight. He stumbled upstairs to his rooms and only managed to shove the bills underneath his pillow before he was asleep.

He was woken by loud knocking at the door. Lovino laid there, staring at the ceiling. Kalmar must have sold him out. Or-or his handlers had finally grown tired of him. Either way, Lovino wouldn't be their trained dog any longer. He fumbled for his pointless letter and scribbled it out to start anew, telling his little brother what had truly been happening for months. He recklessly signed both their names. It wouldn't make a difference. The Stasi would find Feliciano and then it would all be over.

The pounding continued, and finally Lovino couldn't stand it. Hot crimson fury was roiling beneath his ribs, ready to finally stand up and go down fighting. He rolled out of bed with a snarl, pulled on his shoes, and stormed downstairs. Lovino threw open the door, squinting into the brightness, expecting to see pale violet eyes and bracing himself for the blows that would soon come. He silently reveled in whatever puny act of defiance he'd managed. However, he met vibrantly _green_ eyes instead, shining with confusion and enthusiasm, and his brave last words died on his tongue in confusion.

'Did I wake you up?' the man asked. Lovino frowned at his Spanish accent. This man was definitely not Stasi. Lovino could recognize people like him-with the steel-hard eyes and the shaking hands. This man was all vibrant life and exuberance, like he thought he was a Westerner.

'You absolutely did. I'm not buying-' Lovino glanced down at the instrument and felt a twinge of jealousy. 'I'm not buying guitars. Try the West, they're the only ones with the money for art these days.'

'I'm not selling the guitar,' he said, voice brimming with a laugh he thankfully didn't voice. If he had, Lovino would have taken a swing at him. 'I was wondering if I could come in.'

'The bar is closed,' Lovino said brusquely. 'Are you new around here?'

'No, I don't want a drink. I just want to play.'

Lovino sighed, resigned to explaining every detail to this irritating Spanish musician. 'I can't pay you. I said, you should go to the West.'

'I don't need to be paid if you'll let me sleep here. I can just stay here and play. As entertainment.' Somehow, he eased himself past the threshold and stood staring appreciatively at everything. His dark brown curls flopped into his eyes, and he brushed them away.

Lovino scowled and shut the door, blinking to adjust his eyes to the darkness.

'When are you open?' the man asked.

'Dinner is soon, and people come in then. It's none of your damn business, though, bastard. What are you doing here?'

'Playing guitar,' he explained patiently. 'I'm not actually a musician, though. I'm a photographer, an art photographer, but I'm not allowed to take pictures of anything for a few weeks according to _them_.' He nodded vaguely at the walls, and Lovino felt a hot punch of anger and shame. The Stasi, always.

'Any reason why you woke me up?'

He shrugged, but his ears went faintly red. 'You were the only one who answered. I've been looking everywhere.'

'Most people are out,' Lovino said. 'You just woke me up.'

'I'm sorry for that, Mr…?'

For a second, Lovino almost said his real name. He couldn't. The Stasi didn't allow it.

'Romano,' Lovino ground out. The name had never tasted so bitter. 'Just Romano.'

'I'm sorry for waking you up, Romano. I'm Antonio. Antonio Fernandez Careddio.'

That sunny, stupid accent made even his informant name sound better than usual. _Antonio_. Lovino tried out the name, rolling it on his tongue, and pretended to be busy fixing something behind him so he wouldn't have to meet those earnest green eyes. Antonio shouldn't be here. The Stasi would find him, or Lovino would have to report. His heart felt full of lead.

Lovino was used to cataloging people's appearances. Surely it was only habit that kept making him _watch_ the way Antonio moved in the sunlight-drenched room like he already belonged in it and the bright notes of his smile and his laugh and the slight freckles on his shoulders.

'Romano?' Antonio was looking concerned. 'Is something wrong?'

'No. I'm going back to bed,' Lovino said abruptly. His head must still be fuzzy from drinking earlier. 'I don't care what you do for a hour or two, but if you drink _anything_ or steal from the till, you'll pay twice over.'

'I won't do anything,' Antonio promised.

'And don't wake me up too soon,' Lovino added as an afterthought before he turned and went back to bed, knowing he had just invited a complete stranger into his bar, agreed to letting him entertain, and let him watch the bar while he slept.

 _Antonio_. Lovino murmured the name to himself. It made him shiver, which was strange and even stranger when he felt hot and every inch of his skin prickled.

He turned over and tried to sleep. Sleep did not come for a long time.

0o0o0o

The dinner rush was chaotic as always. Antonio settled himself beside the jukebox and winked meaningfully at Lovino. Lovino ignored him. For once, it was easier to watch the people he might he need to inform on.

He almost forgot Antonio was supposed to be playing until the jukebox crackled to life, on the same Western station people always tuned it to. Antonio strummed a chord, beamed out at the surrounding people, and began to sing along to the crooning lyrics.

' _Fame and fortune, they're only passing things, but the touch of your lips on mine makes me feel like a king_ …'

Antonio was good at singing. Lovino couldn't help but stare with everyone else in the bar as Antonio strummed and sang, green eyes sparkling out at everyone.

' _Your kind of love is a treasure I hold_ …'

Antonio caught his eyes and his lips curved up in a smile. Lovino jerked away, heart hammering, and forced himself to look back at the bar. Did Antonio think he would get some of the bar's profits if he did-Lovino's heart stuttered as he wiped down a glass he had already cleaned twice-did whatever he was doing?

He didn't look back at Antonio the whole song, even though he could feel his heavy, inscrutable gaze. What he saw would only be disappointing.

The night was anything but. Having a musician was wildly successful. Lovino was even impressed at the end, when everything was quiet again, with early morning sunlight streaming in through the shuttered windows.

'Antonio,' Lovino called.

'Yes?' Antonio smiled.

Lovino cursed his earnestness. It was endearing in a way. 'I know you said you didn't have to be paid, but-' He looked down at the till again. 'You're a...passable musician. You bring people in, and it's only fair if I pay you.'

'Don't worry about me, Roma,' Antonio said, offering that smile again. Lovino pressed his lips together and looked away again.

'Don't call me Roma. That was my grandfather's name.'

'Sorry.' Antonio was suddenly behind him, and Lovino stiffened. Antonio was taller than him by a few inches, which was more obvious when they were this close. Lovino's mouth was dry as he tilted his head back. 'I'm just glad we're working together.'

'Sure,' Lovino said, trying to grab a cloth to wipe down the bar again. Anything but conversation with Antonio, which made him feel fluttering and hot.

'Do you want to have a drink?'

Lovino wasn't sure he'd heard correctly. 'Have a drink?'

Antonio picked up a glass, looking almost sheepish. 'I don't know if you have a rule against drinking on the job or-'

'We're not working anymore,' Lovino said, taking the glass back. Maybe he was tired, or maybe Antonio just had a smile that made him feel like he was almost flying. 'What do you take?'

'Do you have any rum?'

Two minutes later, they sat together at a table, the beams of sunlight lighting up their glasses. Lovino was drifting in the warm haze, pleasantly exhausted. Everything seemed softer now, and Antonio was still looking at him with that damned smile.

'You're a photographer?' Lovino tried, swirling his glass.

'I'd rather have been a musician,' Antonio said. He absentmindedly ran his fingers over his guitar, and Lovino picked out the melody of the song he'd sang earlier.

'What was that song?'

' _Fame and Fortune_. I'll show you,' Antonio said, jumping up to fiddle with the jukebox, and the sweet strains of the music filled the quiet. Antonio settled in with his guitar, giving Lovino a small smile. 'I noticed you weren't looking at me last time.'

'I was busy.'

'You're not busy now. It's good to relax, Romano. To have your own day.' He winked. ' _Carpe diem_.' Before Lovino could answer, Antonio strummed the first chord and began singing. His eyes never left Lovino's.

Lovino's face felt hot. He turned back to his drink, but watched Antonio over the rim. He was smiling again, damn him.


	2. Chapter Two

Antonio was the best thing that had happened to the Roman. People heard him once and remembered, and they came back just to listen to him. The bar was booming. Lovino was hesitantly thinking of cutting away his ties to the Stasi, since he had enough money now. If he could get away from the horrific culture of secrets and blood money, he could go live closer to Feliciano, or run his bar as a business for more than names and lives.

If Antonio was the key to that whole new life, free and safe, he was also the best thing that had happened to Lovino. There was the glimmer of a different life there, too, in the hints of where Antonio had started staying nights in the bar and those evenings where they talked, and Antonio sang, and Lovino found himself thinking more and more of the lyrics to that song...

'Romano!' The bell clanged, and Antonio rushed in, panting. Lovino whirled around, cursing, his train of thought derailed. His mind had ventured into a strange place he never wanted it to be in. Antonio was just a stroke of luck, nothing more.

His brown curls were mussed and curling up over his forehead. Lovino's heart did a strange squeeze.

'Romano, I'm so sorry, forgive me. I can't play tonight and I'll only come back really late. I've got some friends who are just in town who I haven't seen for a while. One of them is a poet. A poet! I can't believe he made it like that.' He laughed and sat back against the bar, but his smile fell. 'I'd love for you to come, honest, but it's...kind of a sensitive thing.'

'It's fine,' Lovino said. A flare of disappointment had bloomed inside him when Antonio said he wouldn't be there, and he ignored it. It would just be a slower night for the bar. That was all. 'Is your poet a Westerner?'

'Yep, from the French sector.' Antonio hopped up on the bar and swung his legs. Lovino had told him countless times not to do it. Antonio cocked his head and the sun shone against his eyes, and Lovino's reprimand died in his throat. 'Do you like poetry, Roma?'

'You ask stupid questions. I run a bar. What do I know about poetry?' Lovino fumbled around the empty bar for something to do. He wanted to say that he did know poetry, but that was before Berlin, in a safer time.

'I'm a photographer, and I play guitar,' Antonio pointed out. 'I can ask Francis for some poetry tonight, and I can read it to you!'

'Hold on-' Lovino said aggravatedly, but Antonio jumped up and swung back out the door, shouting that he was late.

Lovino sat down hard on the nearest barstool. The man was frustrating him to no end. He was a constant presence in his thoughts, changing everything of his life, and he was starting to get used to it. Antonio was bright sunshine in the grey clouds, fresh air in the grimy machinery of life, and he was everything Lovino had needed.

He pulled out his nearly empty pack of cigarettes and lit one. The taste was too familiar after he'd tried unsuccessfully again to quit, but he'd take even this craving over whatever dangerous thing lay between him and Antonio.

0o0o0o

He had been right about the night being slower. Almost everyone asked where the normal music was. Lovino forced on his best smile and said he'd be back tomorrow. People settled down after that. As he watched them, picking out the few regulars left after the Stasi had chased down the rest, he felt odd and idle before he remembered that usually, he'd be watching more carefully, ready to inform. It disgusted him even more now.

Someone turned on the jukebox. The familiar strains of Elvis crooned through the semi-darkness, and everyone went quiet to listen, and sing. Thoughts of even the Red Army could not stand against the voices raised. It was an eerie, lovely thing to have so many people from so many lives who all knew the words and who sang it slowly, softly, as if each to their lovers.

An image of Antonio flashed before his eyes-laughing, singing, the strange intensity in his eyes as he had played _Fame and Fortune_ for him that first night.

Lovino jerked back, nearly dropping the glass he was holding, a tangled riot of emotion bursting below his ribs. The man slumped across the bar didn't seem to notice when his drink was nearly flung at him. The bar was dark, and the ghostly singing still filled the air. The memory of those green eyes still hovered in his mind.

Lovino turned around and stomped down to the cellar to bring up the first dusty crate he saw, trying to block out his voice. It was ridiculous, whatever he was thinking. Antonio wasn't like him, and even if he was, Lovino had _standards_ at the very least.

It had been so long since he'd even begun to think of someone in that way. Lovino shuddered, blinking down at the gritty floor, and swore to himself that he would not follow this path. Antonio was his musician. Lovino would remove himself from under the Stasi's thumb, and they would go their separate ways.

He picked up the crate, not bothering to read the label, and hauled it back upstairs. The song had turned. Lovino stopped, numb fingers clutching the edge of the small crate. _Fame and Fortune_. It hadn't come on much since that first night.

'You should have been here, Antonio,' Lovino muttered to himself. He smiled slightly and then set back to work, tucking his feelings behind his heart.

0o0o0o

Antonio came back in the very early morning when the sky was still grey. Lovino was startled out of sleep by the jingle of the bell and the now-familiar scrape of Antonio quietly easing his guitar case through the door. Lovino found himself smiling before he pushed himself up from the bed and went downstairs.

'How was it?'

Antonio whirled to face him, drawing up as if for a fight, before his face lit up and he collapsed back into easy lines. Lovino shook away the slight twinge of concern and motioned them both over to the bar.

'It was fantastic.' Antonio carefully set his guitar down and then collapsed into his usual seat at the end of the bar. Lovino lit the lamp. His eyes were unusually glazed. Antonio gave him an unfocused smile, eyes sliding over his features. He was very obviously drunk. He accepted the drink and gulped down most of it without flinching. 'Gilbert always brings the best beer.'

'And who's Gilbert?' Lovino found himself willing to indulge tonight, because Antonio looked boyish and happy and he couldn't stop smiling.

'My friend. He's from here. Said he wanted to bring his little brother, but-' Antonio became absorbed in his drink again before he continued. 'But Ludwig's too obsessed with the rules. Poor guy. All he wants to live for is his uniform.'

'Uniform?' Lovino's drink suddenly tasted sour. 'He's a Red Army officer?'

'God, no.' Antonio looked up, eyes clearer from the shock. 'He's one of those Bundes...you know, the national police. Ah, I can't speak German when I'm drunk. The ones in the West.'

Satisfied, Lovino returned to his glass. 'You aren't doing anything a Western police officer would object to, are you?' he teased.

Antonio laughed. 'Not the West ones.'

Lovino noticed that strange glint in his eyes again and decided to attribute it to the drunkenness. Antonio sat up, his usual smile back. 'Francis told me a poem to tell you.'

Lovino shifted closer, surprised by how happy the news made him. 'Go on.'

Antonio's eyes were bright in the semi-darkness. The lamplight barely reached beyond them, and they both moved closer. The light softened everything.

'Fortunately for you, English _is_ a language I can speak when drunk,' he said, and his mouth curled up in a smile and Lovino felt lightheaded. ' _Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, to feel for ever its soft fall and swell, awake for ever in a sweet unrest-still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, and so live ever or else swoon to death_.'

Lovino felt like he had to take a breath again at the end. 'Where is that from?'

'Francis said he took it from an irritating man's book while the man was drunk.' Antonio's ears were slightly red. 'I want to tell you more, but I can't remember it all. It was something about _bright stars_. It's the old English I can't remember.'

'What languages do you know when you're drunk?'

'Spanish,' Antonio answered instantly.

'Show me,' Lovino said impulsively. In a second, Antonio had stood up with a foot on the chair, silhouetted by the lamp, and extended a hand to him. Lovino stared up at him, mouth dry.

' _¿Qué es poesía?, dices, mientras clavas, en mi pupila tu pupila azul. ¡Qué es poesía! ¿Y tú me lo preguntas? Poesía… eres tú._ '

He understood pieces of it, and licked his lips, trying to think again. 'My eyes aren't blue.'

'I can change it, Roma.' Antonio didn't sit down. His eyes were as intense as before.

'Don't. It's a love poem.' He wanted Antonio to challenge that, to say it wasn't. It would be easier. But he just stood there, and his hand touched Lovino's shoulder.

'It is.'

Lovino pulled back. Antonio's eyes were impossibly deep and pulled at all his secrets. Oh, he wanted to tell, but Antonio was drunk. He didn't feel the same and it would only end in pain.

'I'm a fucking man, Antonio. You don't read me love poems.'

'I know.' Antonio let him go. His expression wasn't even sad, just quiet. Lovino could feel the scream beginning in his bones, in the knot of tension behind his ribs. He turned and left, storming upstairs and burying his face in the pillow to roar out his rage and confusion and pain.

_Poesía… eres tú._

0o0o0o

The next day, Antonio wasn't downstairs where Lovino had left him. Lovino stared at their glasses still on the bar and the wax of the lamp dripping on the wood. He would have to clean it off. Everything was heavy and slow and pointless. Antonio had gone, because of Lovino's outburst.

He checked the till again. There was enough for him not to need the Stasi anymore. He wasn't as scared anymore, strangely. If Braginsky wanted to announce that Lovino had different preferences, at least Antonio wouldn't be around to hear it.

This time, when he walked to meet his fate, it was of his own will, as a braver man to face whatever happened. When the grey stone building loomed before him, Lovino gritted his teeth and waited in the biting wind until the colonel appeared.

The colonel was a huge man, with pale eyes and paler hair. He looked Lovino over slowly.

'Back so soon, little oriole?' he asked, that smile spreading like a shark's. Lovino shuddered.

'This will be the last time. I'm no longer working with you. I don't need the money.'

The colonel's eyes widened in mock surprise. 'Oh, Romano. I thought we had an agreement.'

'Not anymore. Go ahead and tell people whatever you want,' Lovino said contemptuously. 'I'll be in the West.'

'No, you won't be.' Braginsky leaned closer, his cold hand gripping Lovino's shoulder. 'Your musician, your photographer-you wouldn't want him hurt, would you? I already know what he does after hours. You are not my only informant.'

'Antonio? He's just the music. He doesn't do anything,' Lovino protested. He shouldn't argue. Antonio meant nothing to him in the face of seeing Feliciano again. Antonio had left, but the threat-the threat scared him. Braginsky raised an eyebrow.

'You mean he's never told you?' He gently shoved Lovino back. 'Go home and ask him exactly what he does with his friends. You will be back soon to tell me what you've learned. If you're good, I will turn a blind eye to his secrets. If you don't tell me, I will take matters into my own hands.' He smiled again. 'Choose well, little informant.'

Lovino ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ivan has his own story, but I do not know how or if it will be told.
> 
> :: Frost on windows turning the world wintergreen


	3. Chapter Three

Lovino sat alone by the bar and tried to forget with the bottles and the hot ash. Antonio didn't come back that night, or the next, and Lovino did forget how the sun seemed to shine so much brighter when he was around. He drifted back into informing for the next time he would go back to Ivan. It hurt, it hurt so much more than he'd ever expected, to know that all the brilliant warmth of Antonio was gone because of his foolish, stupid, fearful words. But Lovino got used to his old life again, even if it took the cigarettes to get there. It was better this way. It had to be.

It was a month, and Lovino never stopped hurting. But one night, after hours, nursing a headache from whatever marital scandal he'd dealt with earlier, there was a knock at the door, so softly he could have almost convinced himself he hadn't heard it if his heart hadn't woken back up. He pulled himself up, staggering, heart in his throat, and threw open the door.

Antonio stood there, clutching not his guitar but a worn leather camera case. His eyes shimmered green in the evening light.

'Romano,' he rasped. He looked like a wreck. 'Can I-can I come in?'

Lovino was paralyzed by the sight of him, but ushered him in and sat down at the bar. It was a surreal experience, sitting there with his musician who he'd thought had gone forever. He lit another cigarette to calm down and poured two glasses of rum.

They drank. They did not speak about the love poem, and Lovino was glad. It would be better if they could just return to their simple, friendly lifestyle, but his heart had always wanted more, and it always led to this-the silence, and the unspoken words, and the complications after hearts collide too well. Lovino ached.

When they were almost done their drinks, Antonio stirred and finally spoke in a soft, almost broken tone.

'You smell like cigarettes.'

Lovino pulled it from his mouth. His hands were shaking, and he ashed the cigarette to hide it. 'I know. Do you think I'm an idiot?'

'No!' Antonio looked like he tried to smile, but it came out sad. 'I just...wanted to tell you.'

'You've told.'

He kept watching, scrutinizing, and Lovino coughed and stubbed out the remains. He couldn't concentrate. It would be best just to get Antonio away again, as much as it would hurt. 'Antonio, I don't think I can have-'

'Can I take a picture of you?' he interrupted in a rush, hopefully holding up his camera, wrapped in old leather. _Carpe diem!_ was scribbled on the base in white grease pen, followed by signatures. It looked well-loved.

Lovino should say no, but he never could to those eyes. He sighed and turned away, hating himself, his heart pounding, his protests caught in his throat. 'Whatever you want.'

'Stay right there.' Antonio adjusted and fiddled for a short time with the camera before he stopped and just stared, as if he was trying to remember every detail of how Lovino looked. His expression was so tragically gentle that Lovino stared at the floor instead when the shutter clicked. Antonio pulled out a grease pen and scribbled his name down. 'I can bring it to you tomorrow?' he questioned, all his fragile, vulnerable hope open to the surface, ready to be broken.

Lovino knew he shouldn't agree. He'd already spent far too long in Antonio's company.

'Keep it,' he muttered, chest aching. He wouldn't be around long enough to see it again. His hands trembled and he stuffed them in his pockets. Antonio was looking at him in that encompassing way he had, warmth and sadness. Lovino couldn't look at him at all, and turned back to his drink.

They sat in silence until Antonio reached out and made as if to touch his shoulder. Lovino flinched, and Antonio laid his hand on the bar instead, very close to his.

'You're going through withdrawal.' His voice was a gentle croon and it all hurt.

'Bullshit.' Lovino tried to laugh and it came out broken. He waved the cigarette, the lit end drawing circles in the dark. 'I've been clean for ages. This is the first time.'

'Here.' Antonio pulled out a lollipop and offered it to him. 'It's raspberry,' he said, like it explained anything.

'What would a lollipop do?' Lovino asked incredulously, shocked out of his melancholy. His stomach growled. There had been nothing sweet for a long time.

'It stops the cravings. I used them when I stopped smoking. I think it's the sugar.' Antonio shrugged with a small smile. 'It's my last one. Do you want it?'

Lovino accepted the candy. It tasted good, and it did take the edge off. 'Thanks,' he mumbled, heavy shame settling back across his shoulders. 'You smoked?'

'A long time ago. It's not the same without my friends. Gilbert liked drinking better, anyways.'

He shouldn't ask. He shouldn't ask. But Colonel Braginsky would want something soon, and Lovino wasn't going to tell him about Antonio. There was nothing to tell, after all He. was just a musician with a sunny smile, so Gilbert was who he'd have to inform on. Lovino put on the best smile he could manage.

'I'd like to meet him.'

Antonio stilled, and his hands twisted. 'Can't.'

'Why?'

Antonio jerked his head mechanically. 'Dead. He's dead. The Reds got to him.'

Lovino felt horrible. 'Oh God, I'm sorry.'

'He was a prideful bastard. Couldn't keep his head down. That's probably how the Army caught him. _Careless, stupid-fucking son of a bitch_ ,' Antonio spat, and his eyes spilled over. 'I loved him more than life itself. We all did.'

They sat in silence, memory and pain too thick to breathe until Antonio stirred as if from sleep and stood up. A small, sad smile flickered around his face, and he held out his hand.

'I'll show you where we used to go. In memory.'

It would be stupid to go running out again, but Lovino would do anything to keep Antonio smiling.

'Alright.'

Antonio lit up so brightly Lovino knew he'd made the right choice.

'I'll drive us.'

Lovino didn't know what he'd expected for the ride. A sleek cherry red car was not it.

'It's a '53 Chevy,' Antonio said, looking so proud of it and himself that Lovino didn't ask any more questions and just got in.

As they drove down the street, Antonio talked more about the place they were going. Apparently it was a tiny, hole-in-the-wall bar, where the company was usually better than the drinks unless Gilbert came. His face fell, then, and they were both quiet the rest of the way until they stopped near what seemed more like a gap between two larger buildings than a bar. Seeing it only compounded the heavy shame in his stomach from knowing he'd inform on this. It made him sick.

'You...you have to call me Columbus in here,' Antonio said. 'It's a secrecy thing. In case any of us are caught and forced to talk. Of course, people still slip up.' His forced grin fell flat. 'You know, you should probably have a codename too, Romano.'

Lovino almost laughed with the irony. 'I'm not joining your club.'

'It's not a club,' Antonio said with an enigmatic sparkle in his eye. 'I'll call you Roman for now. Come on, I don't want to wait outside for too long.'

Lovino thought to himself that he was going to start forgetting all his codenames soon. He would have been fine waiting, because it was a hot August night and the streetlights played off the planes of Antonio's face, but he shouldn't stare. They slipped inside.

People were crammed around tables and a makeshift bar, laughing and talking. Someone waved to Antonio as they came in, and he pulled Lovino over to sit down. The man had spikes of blond hair and-his pulse jumped, a hot shock of adrenaline making the world snap into focus- _was Kalmar_. Had he figured out what Lovino kept giving him the West money for?

'Hey!' Kalmar said, evidently recognizing the same thing. His face was red, and his eyes glazed slightly. He didn't seem suspicious. 'Romano, glad we have you.'

'Call him Roman,' Antonio interjected. Kalmar snorted.

'Did anyone ever tell you you're shit at making up new code names, Columbus?' he asked casually. He passed two drinks across the bar. 'Well, at least you've found someone.'

'No, it's not like that,' Antonio blurted, ears flushing red. Lovino realized a moment afterwards, and froze. Antonio glanced back at him, eyes wide, looking helpless. Something in his chest tugged again.

Lovino immediately shoved the fluttering feeling away with his shame about informing and took a long drink. The vodka was cheap, but it was alcohol.

'It's not like you have anyone, either,' Antonio was saying.

'Well, the several standing warrants for my arrest doing this,' Kalmar gestured, 'aren't exactly attractive to guys _or_ girls, alright? Usually the guys like the rebel thing, but…' He took a morose drink. 'Apparently being a partisan is only attractive if you don't actually get arrested. All people want is stability. This is Berlin. _It's not stable, at all_ -Roman, do you...want something?'

Lovino was staring. He couldn't help it. His mouth felt dry.

'Guys?' he asked. 'You're…?'

'Yeah, I'm into guys and girls.' Kalmar straightened up, looking suddenly dangerous. 'Do you have something to say?'

For some reason, Lovino's gaze shifted over to Antonio. His mouth was slightly open, and he looked vulnerable, _needing_ his answer. He looked away again.

'No. No, my-my brother is the same way,' he croaked, hating himself.

'Has _he_ found anyone?' Kalmar asked, not missing a beat. 'Actually, what does he look like? Do you have a picture?'

Lovino fixed his gaze on him and didn't bother answering. Kalmar had the decency to look embarrassed and went back to his drink. Antonio still hadn't spoken, but he shook suddenly and took a gulp of his vodka.

Lovino bent back over his glass. He wasn't sure what to think about-the apparent arrests, or Kalmar's preferences. They weren't exactly _surprising_ , but it was strange to hear them being talked about so openly. This didn't seem like that kind of bar. And then there was Antonio's reaction...

'What about Roman, then?' Kalmar asked. 'Does he have anyone?'

'No,' Lovino muttered into his glass.

'Why not?'

Lovino jolted up. Both he and Antonio looked shocked by what he'd just said.

'I'm-I'm busy,' Lovino said, trying to sound scandalized, but it sounded pleading. He didn't know what he wanted from this. 'It's just-it's complicated, Antonio.'

Kalmar suddenly barked a laugh, slammed his glass on the bar, and cuffed Antonio's shoulder.

'I'll get you another drink,' he said with a grin, heaved himself up, and vanished into the crowd. Antonio shifted awkwardly, giving an embarrassed smile. Lovino finished his drink. His head was spinning, and he poured another.

'Kalmar is a bit of a loose cannon.'

'I guessed as much.' Lovino swirled the remains of his new drink. His body was prickling and hot, and even as he picked up another glass, it didn't calm him down. They were alone, and he subtly leaned closer across the table. Antonio's breath caught, and he moved closer.

Lovino licked his lips, trying to speak.

'You really don't have anyone?'

'Never for long. See, that way nobody can get to me.' Antonio reached out and placed his large, calloused hand over Lovino's, palm-down. His green eyes had that heartwrenching sincerity that Lovino had found since the first day, and a hint of sadness. 'You can't fight if you care for someone. Because they always, always-' His gaze flicked down to the hollow of Lovino's throat and he swallowed, throat bobbing, before he forced his eyes up. 'They get hurt instead, and I can't stand the idea of that.'

Lovino was lightheaded. He couldn't breathe, but he slowly turned his hand until their palms were pressed together.

'I know,' he rasped, thinking of Feliciano, thinking of the bullet-wound pain of the threat on his musician's life. 'I know, Antonio.'

Antonio smiled like the sun rising, glorious and awestruck and wonderous. He craned his head in, and Lovino found himself blindly leaning in, until their noses nearly brushed. Kissing distance. Antonio's eyelashes were very long against faint freckles, his eyes flecked with gold, his voice a low croon.

'That is why, Romano, you are such a danger to me.' Closer, his heart pounding, his thoughts shattered-oh God, so close. Antonio's mouth barely, barely grazed next to his, and Lovino whispered his name like the prayer it should be, every nerve thrumming. 'You are everything I cannot dare to have, but God, you are worth it.'

The door was suddenly thrown inwards with a resounding bang, and Antonio jerked back. Lovino was drifting, his thoughts ten steps behind, still stuck on how the corner of his mouth was tingling. Antonio shoved him down against the wall, shouting for people to get down. A hysterical laugh bubbled out of Lovino's throat. It was too much-the look in his green eyes and the hot muscled weight of the body shielding his. He let his head fall back against the wall and stared at the angel at the door.

Skin white as driven snow, eyes like blood, an avenging angel from the hymns Feliciano used to sing. That was the only thing Lovino's blurry brain could come up with. All his hurricane destruction was chained up by the Soviet uniform he wore.

Next to his ear, Antonio tensed up, and gasped, 'Gilbert?'

The angel-Gilbert, come back from death, stepped inside. His gaze swept the room. For a split second, he locked eyes with Lovino before his gaze shifted to Antonio.

'You all need to get out of the East,' he said in a rough voice like wind. His body shifted, all sharp, hunting-bird movements and angles, like a weapon, but he opened up, sounding close to pleading. 'Antonio.'

Antonio slowly let go of Lovino and turned, his body still between Gilbert and him.

'Gilbert Beilschmidt,' he said, in a soft, shaking tone. 'I thought you were dead.'

Gilbert's smile was crooked and fang-laden and close to regretful. 'So did I.'

Antonio began to slowly walk forwards. Nobody breathed. Lovino could hear his thudding heartbeat. 'But you come back. Wearing a Soviet uniform. What did your new masters tell you about needing to get out of the East?'

'They're dividing the city. Nobody will be allowed to get into the West after tonight. I told you, Toni. I knew this was going to happen.'

Antonio's agonizingly slow pace never stopped. 'How long have you been working for them?'

'Oh, don't make me say it,' Gilbert whispered. He tilted his head. 'It was for Ludwig, you know that. It was for you. I know now when the Wall is going up. Tonight.'

'Which names did you give them to find that out?' Antonio hissed, his fury bursting through into his voice. 'I should have seen this coming. You disappeared, and then we started getting caught. There was no way we could have been found unless someone informed on us. Where's Feliks?'

There was a heartbeat, a moment, where Gilbert didn't move. Then he shook his head, and the bar roared, a bloodcurdling scream. Antonio was deadly still.

'You should have never betrayed us,' he whispered, voice the only thing trembling. 'I should have shot you dead the day I met you, Beilschmidt, you fucking bastard. I'll make you wish you did die, God damn it!'

Gilbert didn't even move, simply stood there with an inscrutable expression until Kalmar stood up, his expression murderous, a broken bottle in his hand.

'You shouldn't have ever come back,' he said, before he lashed out quick as a striking snake, obviously going for those red eyes. Gilbert jerked back, bright blood suddenly pouring down his face, striking against his pale skin, and threw a punch back. They both fought like demons, a whirl of blue and red until Kalmar had him pinned, the broken bottle poised. Gilbert lay like a fallen angel, white and crimson spread on the floor. His red eyes blinked out through the blood. Kalmar must have missed his eye, and Lovino felt what must have been regret.

'Do it,' he said, baring his throat. 'God knows I deserve it. Just get out of the East.'

Antonio stepped forward and took Kalmar's arm. 'No.'

Kalmar didn't look at him. 'Don't tell me you've still got something for your friend.'

'Let him go. But if you ever hurt or come near any of us again, Gilbert…' He leaned down, gripping that white skin until it bruised. 'I will kill you myself.'

Gilbert just stared for a long moment. When he spoke, it was a rasp. 'Just tell Francis to get to the West. Tell everyone. Please.'

'Get out of here,' Antonio spat, stepping away. Kalmar got off, and Gilbert rose to his feet, blazed white, every injury gleaming. 'I never want to see you again.'

Gilbert didn't move for another second. Then he turned, and walked out. A motorcycle revved, and then the engine faded into the distance.

Kalmar sat down hard.

'You should have let me kill him,' he said. Antonio sunk down next to Lovino and buried his face in his hands.

'I know.'

He sat, and Lovino let him lean against him. People began to leave silently. Finally, Antonio took a deep, shuddering breath, twisted, and punched the wall.

'Let's go,' he said to Lovino, holding out his unbruised hand. Lovino silently took it, and they walked outside.

Antonio leaned back against the brick and stared up at the stars. Lovino wondered if he was listening for the rumble of a motorcycle engine.

'He was one of my best friends,' he said. 'I can't believe...no. I can believe it.' His eyes hardened. 'Gilbert has always been a dog for those in power.' He sighed, the anger in his eyes draining away. 'I'm sorry, Romano.'

'What did Kalmar mean about arrests?' Lovino noticed his hands were shaking, all the panic building up. 'What the fuck just happened? Why have people gone missing? Are they-' And the truth crashed into him that that this was Antonio's other life Ivan had spoken about. He was a fucking revolutionary.

And Lovino had all the evidence to his death warrant. He felt sick. The world swam before his eyes.

Antonio chuckled darkly. 'I'm sure you've figured out at least a little of what we do here. It isn't exactly endorsed by the Stasi.'

The weight was back into his stomach, horrible and cold. 'What do you mean?' he asked, praying his voice didn't betray his fear.

'We dissent.' Antonio's eyes were moonlight-bright. 'We're partisans, revolutionaries. We resist and fight back against the Stasi.'

Fight back against the Stasi. This was a resistance group, and here he was, the spy planted in the middle.

'I want to go home,' he said carefully, pushing the panic down, where minutes before, warmth had bloomed. Antonio nodded, and they drove back to the bar in quiet. Antonio helped him up to bed, and Lovino didn't have the energy to pretend he didn't want the help.

'Listen, Romano.' The bed creaked as Antonio sat down at the foot. 'If Gilbert was right about the Wall-and God damn it, I think he is-then you should get out. Do you know anyone in the West?'

'My brother lives there, but I have to stay here,' Lovino rasped. He tried to sit up. He couldn't explain about the Stasi, but what they would do if he ran away tonight would be horrific. 'Where are you going? The West?' He tried to joke, but it didn't work. Fear still crawled up inside of him at the idea of Gilbert being right and Antonio being trapped there.

'No. I am going to go find Francis tonight. But I am going to stay here and keep fighting.' He looked down. 'If you stay here, Romano, it'll be dangerous.'

'It'll be dangerous for you here.'

Antonio stopped for a moment. Then he reached forward and brushed Lovino's sweaty hair back.

'You are the only thing that can break me,' he whispered. His smile broke over his face again. 'Well, that or a squad of tanks. And since only one of them is here right now…' His fingers grazed Lovino's shoulder, setting off fireworks. He leaned into it, blurry and wanting, and his expression grew more serious again. 'Romano. Are you sure?'

Lovino knew this was not about staying any longer. He knew he was drunk and this was foolish but he didn't care. Antonio was everything.

'I want you,' he murmured. Antonio's eyes widened, and he leaned closer, watching, waiting, and the whole world gleamed-

Until Antonio suddenly jerked back.

'They'll hurt you,' he said. His hands shook as he wrapped the blanket more securely. 'And you're drunk.'

'I can still make my own decisions!' Lovino nearly shouted, so frustrated and hot it was driving him mad. Antonio sat back, blinking. His eyes were glassy.

'Oh.’ He looked grateful. ‘I’m a fighter, Romano. And I'm going out and I think I'm going to do something that will kill me.'

'I don't fucking care,' Lovino hissed, aching to hear his real name in that voice. 'Kiss me. So if you die tonight…' He blinked back the tears. 'I won't lose you.'

Antonio suddenly leaned over him, those sun-warm hands pressing on either side of his head, close. Lovino's breath caught.

'Are you sure?' Antonio asked, his smile wavering between want and sadness. 'I don't know if I'll be able to stop. And I'll be gone for a long time after this.'

'Do it, you bastard,' Lovino spat, trying to keep himself from shaking down to stardust. Antonio pressed his lips together in a soft smile and and leaned down, and then there was a mouth over his, so hot and soft and gentle and the warmth that was Antonio poured down his veins and into his heart and split him into a thousand fluttering sun-yellow pieces. Antonio kissed him deeper, and Lovino opened his mouth, needing it more than he needed to breathe, tasting vodka and spice and sun and _Antonio_.

It stopped far too soon and Lovino was left gasping, every particle of him needing more. Antonio was smiling a sad, soft thing.

'You're drunk,' he said, kissing his forehead. 'I'll come back one day. Sooner than last time.'

'Kiss me again,' Lovino demanded, or tried to. It came out slurred. Antonio dropped another kiss on his temple, and Lovino squirmed-that wasn't what he meant-

'I promise I'll be back after I break down the Wall. And if you still like me, _corazon_ , maybe we can kiss again.' Antonio pulled away and pressed his hands to his face. 'Oh, God, Romano. I shouldn't have done that. You're going to be all I think about.'

'Good,' Lovino slurred, pressing his face to the pillow. The drinks were catching up to him in waves now. 'Bastard.'

'No, I shouldn't have done what I did. You're drunk.' Antonio ran a hand through his hair, pulling at his unruly curls in worry before backing away. He paused by the door with an odd smile. 'For what it's worth, you didn't taste like cigarettes.'

Then he was gone. Lovino's mouth was still tingling for a long time after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :: Glances that tell whole conversations between strangers


	4. Chapter Four

Lovino woke up with a pounding headache and the taste of vodka and spice in his mouth. He groaned, touching his lip. It felt sensitive like it hadn't been in too long, the way that meant he'd been-

_Hands sliding against his side and their tongues and the_ heat-

Lovino slammed a hand over his mouth, his heart ramming against his ribs. He couldn't have been kissed, but he could remember every second, every heartbeat of it, of Antonio's green eyes staring him through to the core. He buried his face in his pillow, breathing hard. The night was coming back to him in flashes. Gilbert, and the bar fight, and Antonio, always Antonio, dangerous, mysterious, incredible Antonio who was a revolutionary, who had kissed him and promised he'd come back.

Antonio, who would be dead if so much as a whisper got out to Ivan. And Lovino swore on whatever scrap of honour he had left that it would not be him who spoke.

He would wait until Antonio came back, as long as it took. For the first time in years, he had a sliver of hope. He strode to his window and threw open the curtains. The sunlight was always damned cold here compared to Sicily, but today, it felt warm. All he could hear was quiet birdsong. Satisfied, Lovino went downstairs.

The warm core buoying him up was abruptly extinguished as soon as he saw who was sitting at the bar. He stood, frozen in place, his terror choking in his throat. This couldn't be happening. Not today, not after last night.

'Hello, little oriole,' Ivan said, raising his glass. 'How are you?'

'How did you get here?' Lovino asked. He couldn't help glancing at the door. His bar was a Stasi outpost, but it was his home. It was safer than the rest of the city to him. And here Ivan was, sitting at the bar like he owned it. With a sickening lurch, Lovino realized he did. It made the whole place feel slimy and wrong.

'You shouldn't lock your friends out,' Ivan said. The glass tilted. 'Come sit with me, da?'

Numbly, Lovino sat. The man beside him-Ivan's bodyguard, he supposed, a tall, intimidating man with a long blue coat-shifted to let him sit as far away from the Russian on his stool as possible.

Ivan poured him a glass of his favourite wine from the cabinet behind the bar. Lovino gazed into the red, feeling even more sick. Ivan knew his favourites. Of course there had been spies here. He was a blind fool to assume they trusted him. He was nothing but a blackmailed pawn. The only question was if the spies had seen Antonio.

'Why are you not drinking?' Ivan asked. His solid, pale hand rested next to Lovino's. He stared at it, hating every inch of it, of the muscles and scars that meant that the man preferred to handle his own disagreements. He didn't need the help of the man beside him, and Lovino only felt resent that this man was trying so obviously to get in Ivan's good graces. He wanted to tell him it was all hopeless.

The hand shifted. Ivan was staring at him, eyes unreadable, that mocking smile touching his thin lips.

'Drink,' he said again. It wasn't a suggestion. Lovino picked up the glass and drank. The watery red stains on the side of the glass reminded him of the smears of blood Gilbert had left on the floor. He slammed it back down and wiped the residue off his lips, wishing he could still taste spice and sun.

'Good,' Ivan said. His praise was nothing Lovino wanted. 'Now, I'm sure we can get along. We can be better friends once everyone is loosened up. Berwald, you too. Drink.'

The man silently drank from his own glass. Ivan's shoulders settled.

'I don't know why you're here,' Lovino said. He kept his eyes on the bar, tracing every familiar, now despoiled, inch of it with his eyes. They landed on Antonio's camera, half-hidden behind the bar where he'd left it, and fear shot through him.

'You don't?' Ivan sighed. 'You promised not to lie to me, Lovino Vargas. Perhaps you should have extended the same courtesy to your _Antonio_. Does he know you work for me? Does he even know your real name?'

Lovino wanted to tell him to go to hell, but he held his tongue. Ivan chuckled close to his ear.

'I believe he is too infatuated with you to question anything.'

His hands curled into fists on the mahogany. 'Don't talk about that.'

'If only you'd chosen someone better,' Ivan said casually, drawing a bottle of vodka from his greatcoat and twisting off the cap. 'I take care of my own, Lovino. I could have turned a blind eye to your indiscretions if you were good. But for someone like him?' He laughed, the sound cold and amused. 'It is just your bad luck.'

Luck. He didn't need to be reminded of luck, of his luck to be caught with a man he didn't know on the one night he'd allowed himself to want, to be offered this devil's deal.

Ivan offered him the bottle and Lovino messily poured himself another glass.

'He doesn't do anything,' he said, begging his voice didn't shake.

'We both know that is not true.' Ivan's hand pressed down on his wrist, ice-cold and gripping like a vice. He felt like he could break Lovino's arm. He stared, nothing but adrenaline rushing through him. 'Why don't you tell me what happened last night?'

Their kiss flashed through his head again and Lovino shoved it back angrily. That was his and his alone. In the privacy of his bedroom, they were something wonderful and untouchable and right, and Ivan would never have that, not if he threatened Lovino's life.

'He brought me to a bar with some friends of his,' Lovino recited robotically. It was the only thing he could do to stop himself from trying to rip out the Russian's cold heart. 'We had a few drinks and then this man burst in and said that the-that a wall was going up.'

He trailed off, staring out the window. Gilbert had said that some sort of Wall was going up that night. He hadn't heard any of the usual morning chatter, and none of the workers were around, even though it must be around noon. His stomach sank. What if the madman had been right? What if he could never see Feliciano again?

'Do you want to see?' Ivan looked delighted, the way a small child was. He didn't wait for Lovino's answer before sweeping out of the bar. Lovino ran to keep up.

There was a rumble in the distance he hadn't heard before. An angry, resentful rumble of a crowd. It grew in volume until it felt like it shook through him down to his bones before they spilled into the square next to the Gate. People backed away from Ivan and his medals to let him through to the front. He pushed Lovino out into the space cleared and swung his arm across the cobblestones.

'Look at it. The Berlin Wall.'

If the lifeblood of the city ran through this square with the raging, screaming people now gone silent, then this was a heart ran through with bullets. The ugly slash of guards and barbed wire and guns ran crookedly across the street, forbidding and cruel. The guards in their ragged uniforms pointed their guns to the East.

'It's to stop people from trying to escape here.' Ivan's voice was close to his ear. 'People who can't control themselves. Who think they're too smart to be caught. Like your _friend_ Antonio. Or perhaps you wanted to run there because there are so many more people like you. How do you call them... _пидор_?'

Lovino flinched back. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the horrible sight of the border, drinking in the polished guns and the dogs with drooling jaws. But he'd heard that word before, spat by the Red Army officers as they passed him and Feliciano. It settled into his chest and burned like acid.

'I do not need to be told about Gilbert Beilschmidt,' Ivan murmured against his ear. 'He guards the Wall. He is just like you.' Lovino caught a flash of his terrible smile. 'Easy to play. A dead man to be.'

'Go to hell,' Lovino spat. He didn't care if Ivan shot him right then. This sickening thing was inhumane. He expected Ivan to be the same way. What was one more death?

'Oh, my little oriole.' Ivan shook his head, his violet eyes gleaming. 'Why would I do that when you still have Antonio?'

Then he was gone, pushing easily through the crowd, Berwald trailing behind him. Lovino thought he saw the latter give him a glance before he left, but couldn't care less about the opinion of someone so close to Ivan.

Across that barrier, no more than twenty feet away, was the freedom he'd dreamed of, utterly unreachable. He never could have left if he'd had the chance, but the choice was taken from him now. His little _brother_ was over there. And who knew when the Wall would fall? Even if Antonio's group attempted to storm it, the guards had guns. Antonio could _die_ here.

Lovino turned on his heel and stalked away. He needed a drink. He needed to forget about everything that had happened in the last night and day, including Antonio's kiss. It would only bring him pain.

0o0o0o

He found a girl. The kind with empty pockets and red, full lips. He appreciated her, the softness of her skin, the gentleness of her movements, but every of his was resentful. He knew he shouldn't be, that the girl didn't deserve his scorn. It was only his fault that he loved Antonio. He hoped the Stasi watched him enter and leave the building.

He felt slimy as he walked back home. He didn't want to go back. The place felt tainted and wrong now. So he walked past the turn-off and kept walking, blind and hurting. He wanted to walk out of the city and never return. The only thing that kept him was Antonio and Feliciano. He was more sure of them and his love for them than he'd ever been of anything else.

His little brother, who loved too easily, who had told him so happily about pretty men and women. Feliciano wasn't suited for this warlike city. His head only hurt more not being able to know if Feliciano was safe.

There was no such dilemma with Antonio. He knew Antonio was what Ivan had said: a dead man to be. He was in incalculable danger.

'Watch where you're going or you'll end up shot at the Wall,' someone said. Lovino was about to bark a remark back at him when he met the man's coppery red eyes and his insult stuck in his throat. Gilbert Beilschmidt grinned down at him, every movement casual and cruelly sharp.

'I'm surprised your filthy masters haven't put you down yet,' Lovino spat. 'Antonio said you were a dog to power. How does it feel? Have you killed anyone yet?'

'Only one,' Gilbert said, his cracked lips spreading out. It pulled at his bandaged wound. 'Falling in love here kills you, but he doesn't know that yet.'

Lovino brushed off the pang of worry from that. His crackling anger finally had a target. 'I wish Kalmar had tried to tear your worthless throat out instead of your eye.'

'His name is Mathias.' Gilbert cocked his head. 'You shouldn't be talking. I saw you with Ivan today. What kind are you?'

'The kind that didn't join willingly.'

Gilbert shook his head, eyes never leaving his. 'Nobody joins willingly. Were you found or are you in debt?'

'Found?'

Gilbert grinned. 'With another.'

Lovino recoiled, the acid in his chest digging into his bones. Gilbert laughed. 'I thought so.'

'You're disgusting,' Lovino snarled. He could barely get the words out.

'It's not as uncommon as you think.' Gilbert leaned back and lit a cigarette.

'Who do you know? Is that why you're wearing that uniform?' He hesitated. 'Why did you _think_ so?'

'I wouldn't tell you if I was.' Gilbert took a drag of smoke. 'I saw you with Antonio.'

'We're not like that.'

'Good.' Gilbert's eyes were half-lidded and reflected the moonlight. The ember lit the severe planes of his face. 'He'll be dead soon. Love is only for the living. Another thing he doesn't understand.'

Without another word, Lovino turned around and left. He could hear Gilbert's muffled laugh for a long time after.

The people started to arrive just after he did. The workers were covered in rubble dust from assembling the Wall Lovino wanted to hate them, but looking at their bleeding hands and exhausted, hollow eyes, he felt only pity. Among them was someone who was as different as could be, someone polished and aristocratic, a lamb among the dusty wolves. Everything about him was elegant and refined and beautiful. He had obviously been trapped on the wrong side of the Wall. Lovino felt a sick, vindictive happiness that he wasn't like that. The aristocrat was a target like he'd never seen before.

The door jingled, and someone he knew walked in, pale as the moon, his Soviet uniform pressed. Gilbert Beilschmidt walked over and sat down next to the aristocrat. He didn't look at Lovino or the rest of the bar, but everyone stared at them. There was an undefinable energy that sparked between them. They began to speak, their words pointed and pulling, pushing, always challenging. Lovino couldn't look away.

The tension crescendoed as they argued and finally shouted, so caught up they forgot the bar was full. Lovino wanted to shout about Gilbert, ask if the aristocrat understood who he was dealing with, but he seemed to understand already. And yet he stayed with him and they walked out together. The air felt thinner without them.

_Falling in love here kills you_ , Gilbert had said. Watching the aristocrat disappear with the ghost, he thought that they would both know the truth of that very soon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :: Mountains far enough away that they look blue


	5. Chapter Five

Antonio came back.

Standing there, a shadow through the window, every movement of his so familiar it hurt. Lovino stared, drinking in the sight and the loss of him for weeks. It made him feel worse. He couldn't have him, and it would be easier if he could turn him away, tell him it had all been a mistake, that he didn't really feel the same way.

Before he could think about what he would never tell him, the bell jingled, and Antonio stepped into the sunlit bar. His eyes were bright green still, but-

Lovino felt himself recoil hard enough to knock himself against the back of the wood. Antonio's face was a mess, blood crusted against his forehead and around his nose. He staggered, and his hands left rusty smears on the door frame.

Lovino rushed to him, trying to hold him up, trying to fix the ruin, trying to do _anything_. Antonio blurrily turned to him, so much warm, loose weight against his shoulders.

'Roma…' He shook his head bemusedly, his eyes not quite focusing. 'Sorry. I didn't know...where else to go to.'

'Stop talking.' Lovino's throat felt thick. 'What the fuck did you do, anyways? Pick a fight with the colonel?'

'Got a bit too close to the Wall.'

'I told you to shut up.' Lovino tried to arrange him in one of the chairs and wet a clean cloth with shaking hands. 'Hold still or it'll hurt more.'

'Doesn't hurt.' He shook his head faintly, having the sheer nerve to give him that smile while his eye was still swollen black and blue. 'Since I'm with you again. You're gentle.'

'Do you want me to be rougher, bastard?' Lovino snapped. He couldn't force himself to hold the cloth any longer, trying to wipe away the evidence of violence. Antonio's skin was warm under his hands. He dropped the cloth and roughly shoved himself away, trying to breathe through the knot in his chest.

'Romano.' Antonio reached out, and Lovino would break if he felt his sun-warm hands, so he twisted himself away. 'Are you okay?'

'Clean yourself off.'

'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-'

'It's fine!' His voice broke, and he curled into his arms, trying to stop Antonio from seeing. He couldn't breathe and didn't want to, because all that lay ahead was ruining this. 'It's fine.'

'Romano, please.' The table creaked as Antonio struggled up, and Lovino spun and grabbed his shoulders.

'You can't do this to yourself any more, Antonio.' He could faintly see his startled expression, the painfully beautiful lines of his face even bloodied, through his tears.

'I'm not trying to get hurt.' His hands came up to cup his face and hold him closer to his broad, warm chest. 'You know what I have to do.'

'No.' Lovino struggled, tried to push against him, but Antonio wouldn't let him go. 'No! You're going to die.'

'Romano, I'm careful, I promise-'

'No!' He shoved him away, vision blurry, his stupid, useless feelings building to a blaze inside of him. He knew he was screaming, knew he was hurting him, but he couldn't stop. 'No. You're a fucking revolutionary. You think I couldn't figure that out? You're going to get yourself shot by Ivan and I'll be here, waiting for you to come back, thinking that for once someone like you would keep their fucking promises. Just like always.'

'Romano, _listen_.' He reached out again and this time, he let him grab his shoulder. 'Romano, you can't tell the Stasi. But if you will, maybe it's best you just tell about me, there's nobody else they can hurt to get to me, I don't have anyone…'

_Do you have anyone?_

_Never for long. See, that way nobody can get to me_.

He stopped, and a realization flashed in his eyes. His grip tightened momentarily, a squeeze that loosened until his hands were hanging limply at his sides. Lovino heard nothing but his heartbeat. A nauseating knot was pulling his stomach together. The world spun.

A bird called outside. Ivan's violet eyes had slid across him, and his mouth had pulled white and red when he had said _oriole_.

'I won't tell,' he croaked. He licked his lips and tried again. 'I won't say anything, Antonio, I swear to you.'

Antonio's expression was serious. Most of the blood was gone, but his nose was still cut.

'I won't break my promise to you.'

Lovino made a sound, somewhere between a scoff and a sob. He didn't know when he started crying, only that Antonio was holding tightly onto him as he screamed and raged and shoved uselessly at the strong lines of his shoulders. He mourned, there in the early sun, for what could have been, if the world didn't breathe war. For Antonio being a musician, or Feliciano being an artist with him, or for him not to have to send others to be killed to save the only people he ever loved.

When he was done, drained, empty of everything, he crumpled in. He could feel Antonio's blood smeared on his cheek, smell the copper of it. Tears streaked down his face, and he couldn't find the energy to wipe them away.

'I'm sorry,' Antonio said honestly. His hand moved in quiet circles on the back of his neck, soothing. Lovino wanted to hear his real name in his voice, but he couldn't.

'Tell me...tell me everything will get better,' he pleaded instead, too empty to think of how pathetic he must sound. Antonio nodded against his hair, hesitating before he spoke, in soft, calming tones. When he did, it was in a murmur.

'I wonder if you know how much I want to take pictures of you when you're laughing. Because when you laugh, it is for the most important reasons. Because you are beautiful when you laugh. Because I want to take pictures of you when you're not looking at my camera, and all I catch is the copper of your eyes when you dream of something I can't even imagine.' He brushed his hair from his face, wiping the tears away, and looked at him with such adoration Lovino felt utterly raw and open. 'Because I want to remember what your laugh looks like, always.'

The words would only make sense to them. Lovino wanted to kiss him, and he felt like he would break if he did and break if he didn't, so he did nothing and hoped, hoped, hoped.

'It's you, you know that? The reason I keep coming back. The reason I'll stay. It is you, it is always you.'

'Antonio,' he rasped. His skin was warm where they touched. Antonio cupped his cheek and brought him closer until their breaths mingled and their noses nearly brushed. Lovino didn't know what he would say if he spoke again- _kiss me_ or _please don't fight again_ or _my name is Lovino_. So he didn't, and just watched Antonio stroke his hair, entranced.

'My friends always said I fell in love too often,' he murmured.

'Are you in love with Gilbert?'

The question slipped out, and Antonio only shook his head, face passive and calm.

'No. Not anymore. I think I did, once. A long time ago.' His hand clenched, shifting as if to hold a cigarette or a pen before it relaxed. 'With him and Francis. They were the kind of people you can't help but fall in love with.'

'You saved him.'

'I spared him. I shouldn't have,' he added. Antonio's eyes were half-lidded, but they fixed on his with intensity, and strangely, madly, he smiled. 'I'm glad you're not telling the Stasi. I think they could hurt me now.'

'With him?' Lovino asked, pretending he didn't want to have another night like that one before the Wall, all electric energy and fear and each other, didn't want all of it more than breathing.

'No.' Antonio laughed, ridiculously, eyebrows furrowed. 'Romano, it's you.'

He laughed. He couldn't help it, thinking that Antonio was ever and still willing to have him.

'You're going to die, aren't you,' he said. It wasn't a question. Antonio's beautiful spring-green eyes crinkled with a half-smile, and he shook his head.

'It's you or a squad of tanks, _corazon_.' He looked at him, that questioning, earnest, disarming look. 'I did promise that if you still wanted me when I came back…'

'Kiss me,' Lovino demanded. He could feel their body heat between four layers of clothes, and he wanted more, and him, and to feel everything. Antonio didn't waste any more time.

The first kiss was a gentle press of lips and a promise of warmth. Antonio pulled away too fast.

'You aren't drunk this time,' he said with a smile that set Lovino's heart fluttering.

'You're one to talk.'

'I know.' Antonio caught his hands and pressed her knuckles to his lips curiously. 'I prefer you like this. Like yourself.'

'Why?' Lovino asked before he could stop himself. _I'm not easy_ , he wanted to say. But he wanted to be worth him, wanted to be close to Antonio, even if he deserved better.

Antonio's expression grew serious.

'I want you to be you. Not when something else is talking for you. All your fire and words and fight.' He paused, and his eyelashes fluttered as he looked down. 'You know, you have hazel eyes. The lighting on the streets makes them look darker. They're beautiful.'

For some reason, it was that small compliment that flustered him, and Lovino glanced away. Antonio chuckled and smoothed his hair back again.

'I love you,' he said openly, offering up his heart to be broken. Lovino turned back to him, unsure and nervous and buzzing to his bones, but Antonio was warm and right and everything felt better for a moment wrapped in his arms.

'I love you too,' he said, and leaned up to kiss him, for once not caring what Ivan could do to him.

0o0o0o

Antonio returned later that night to play his guitar, warding off questions about his bruises with good-natured jokes. For the first time, Lovino could watch him openly, and he did. Antonio's eyes sparkled and the thin cotton shirt rode up to show tanned skin. Antonio caught his eye and winked, and Lovino returned it with a grin. He was giddy, simply, with the freedom and unreality of _having_ Antonio.

Under the collar of that shirt, on the joint of his shoulder, there was a different bruise. Lovino could barely see the shadow of it, and it gave him a stupidly happy feeling.

Antonio wound down on a song and slid in on the bar next to him. Lovino tried to calm the fluttering pulse of his heart and the sparks at the tips of his fingers without success.

'What's your order, bastard?' he asked affectionately.

'Whatever the bartender wants to give me. I think I can take it.' Antonio smiled at himself. Lovino rolled his eyes at him and poured rum.

'You must be feeling better.'

'Of course I am.' Antonio shifted his guitar, downed his drink, and grinned. 'You don't get much Elvis music anymore, right?'

'The Soviets don't like it much.' Antonio was burnished gold and bronze in the lamplight, and he wanted to kiss him.

'Then this is for you, mi corazon,' he whispered. Then he hauled himself up to stand on the stool and started singing Fame and Fortune, his eyes trained on Lovino's.

Lovino couldn't believe him. He couldn't believe someone like Antonio was doing something so silly and perfect and oddly, wonderfully endearing. Even when he turned away to lead the chorus with the other people, there was a magnetic attraction between them, pulling them both together. Lovino caught his eye again as the song changed to a slower croon, and even though Antonio sang in front of the whole bar, the song was for him, and Lovino felt himself smiling without worrying who was watching, like he hadn't for too long. God, he was lost to him no matter the cost.

'I'm going to grab another crate of rum,' he said, barely hearing himself. Everything had narrowed to those spring-green eyes.

He stumbled out into the alley and pressed his hands against the rough brick, knowing he was smiling like a fool. He heard Antonio slip out behind him, and turned to see him wreathed in sunlight, perfect, perfect.

'Did you like it?'

Lovino kissed him to make him be quiet and because he wanted to and because it felt so right. Antonio groaned into his mouth, and for a second, there was nothing but heat and gold light and goodness.

'Idiot,' he said fondly. 'Singing a Western song in the middle of a crowded bar.'

'I couldn't help myself. It was for you.'

' _Idiot_ ,' Lovino repeated. His cheeks hurt with smiling. Antonio's pleased expression deepened, and he held up his leather-wrapped camera with a hopeful smile.

'Can I take a picture of you?'

'Go ahead.' Lovino brushed his hair back for the pose, light and ridiculous and good. Antonio carefully snapped the picture and leaned over to kiss his forehead.

'Maybe in five, ten, fifty years, I won't have to beg you to capture your smile in pictures, because it will be right beside me when I wake up,' he murmured.

The suggestion of a future, of some place away from these lies and bloody empires, was all impossible to promise, and yet he did it.

'I'd like that,' Lovino said. The tension shuddered out of Antonio's shoulders, and he kissed his hair with a shaky laugh.

'I shouldn't promise things like that.'

'But you do,' Lovino finished. _And I love you for it_.

Like this, he could almost forget that Antonio was going to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :: Paper and glue and paint on a sunny field


	6. Chapter Six

Antonio came back with bruises some days. Lovino started buying an extra roll of bandages to keep behind the counter, and when Antonio asked where they came from, he waved it off. If it came out of his cigarette money, it didn't matter. There were better things than cheap smoke.

'See, this is how you arrange a table,' he said, leaning forward across the counter in a slow moment after serving the latest round. He outlined the shapes with his hands, but his mind was barely on the words he spoke. His whole body hummed towards Antonio, and he'd talk forever just to see the glow of his expression. 'You try to get four people around the edges and if someone else arrives, you position them like this, in the middle.'

'Really?'

'They talk more. And people who talk are buying.' He nodded meaningfully at Antonio's glass of rum, and he grinned back like it was the most clever joke he'd heard in years, this stupid, incredible expression that made Lovino feel twisted and heated and needing to be closer, just to tuck his head in the crook of his shoulder, wind their hands together, and sleep.

'You're really great, Romano,' he added, and Lovino jerked himself back, the moment gone. Of course. Antonio didn't know he was a traitor. He forced a smile and took another order, keeping his eyes on the cocktail shakers. Antonio was a fighter, a revolutionary, and if he knew, he would do what he threatened to do to Gilbert. Lovino knew he deserved it, that if- no, goddamnit, it was only a _when_ \- Antonio found out, he'd let him shoot him.

He felt sick again. The world felt sick, some huge cosmic joke, _traitor falls for the sun-bright partisan_ \- and then what happens after that, Lovino wanted to scream? He didn't want to live this double life anymore. It wasn't living when the only time he felt like he could even exist without feeling wrecked and wrong was under Antonio's gaze.

'Romano?'

 _My name is Lovino Vargas but I can't tell you_. He turned halfway back, hoping his smile still held up. 'If you want more rum, you have to play.'

'Anything you want.' Their hands slipped together, a thumb stroking across the back of his knuckles. Antonio had the easy look of someone who knew how to avoid this being seen, and the warmth made him feel worse for all the wrong reasons.

'Kalmar wants to see the bar,' Antonio added after a moment. Lovino hopes his fear didn't show. He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't ruin even more of a brave resistance.

'Listen, Antonio.' His voice shuddered, and he slipped away, pretending to clean a glass. 'It might be better if you...you can't do that. Not anymore, or ever again. It's not safe.' He shut his eyes, full of self-loathing. He'd done it. He'd ruined it, and the only thing that kept him from running far right now was that now, finally, Antonio could be safe from him. He'd told, and the only world that crashed in was his own.

Antonio should have shouted at him. It would have felt better than the soft touch to his shoulder.

'I understand, Romano.' His eyes were gentle and shining. 'It's because I'm a- well, a fucking revolutionary, right?' He chuckled, and Lovino broke again. 'You're right. I should have known better. It's not safe for you.'

'Antonio,' he began, swallowing back tears, ready to tell all of it, _I'm an informer_ and _it's not me who's in danger_ , and _God I love you so much_.

But Antonio let go first, staring at a group of men who had come in, muscles tense. The change still shocked Lovino, from the easy, warm affection to a ready warrior.

'I need to go,' he muttered, putting down his glass. Lovino swallowed back his confessions and fears and nodded, motioning to the back.

'You can sneak out that way and hide. Just stay quiet.'

Antonio flashed him a thankful smile and slipped away down the bar. Lovino shook the tension from his hands and continued his work, refusing to acknowledge the presence of the men in Soviet greatcoats. He was stupid to think it could have lasted, any of it. His eyes prickled, but he would not let himself fall apart.

It was his fault for pouring all his hope into someone else, even if that person was sunlight and green eyes. He'd learned well enough from his brother, who trusted so easily and openly, that the cruelest thing anyone could do was let themselves love someone who promised to fix the world again.

A hand rapped on the bar in front of him, and he jerked up, unable to stop a snarl. The man settled onto his forearms, face open and falsely pleasant.

'Gilbert Beilschmidt comes here,' he said. The tone left no room for argument, but Lovino wouldn't have. For all he cared, these men could have Gilbert, and they'd be together in whatever hell was reserved for liars and cowards.

'He hasn't for a while.' He eyed the pins on the man's coat, weighing if it was worth leaving out the title and deciding he didn't care enough. 'Why?'

'Beilschmidt's got a musician.' The man's eyes lit up, and Lovino bristled, on edge. 'Never thought he'd be the type to get _caught_.'

'I don't know anything. Are you buying anything?' Lovino forced out. The men looked at him with glittering eyes, and Lovino pushed all thoughts of Gilbert and the odd, elegant musician from his mind.

'Maybe some rum,' one of them cooed, and Lovino jerked back again, reaching for the bottle even as his heart thudded against his chest. He could feel the heat of their bodies behind him, and he should be scared, he should be _terrified_ , but all he could feel was a blinding, bitter anger. One of the men leaned closer and he froze. 'Just like your friend who ducked out the back, hmm?'

His hands shook so much on the bottle he nearly dropped it, but he wanted to grab it, break something, give the man a gash to match Gilbert's.

'I don't know him.'

'Don't lie, _Lovino_.' They said his real name like the weapon it was, shuddering through his bones and shocking the fight from him. 'Colonel Braginsky knows what you feel for him.'

'Fuck you,' Lovino spat, shaking. 'The colonel knows nothing.'

'Why don't you tell your Antonio that he doesn't know what he's getting into at the border?' Their faces swirled like grinning masks. 'Do you know what he's doing later today? Do you know he's going to die there?'

'If you do not get the hell out of my bar right now,' Lovino promised, voice trembling, 'I will kill you.'

They drew back with teeth bared, satisfied in their victory, and left with a jingle of the bell. Lovino fell back to his seat, hurting all over, and watched the swirl of people who could be dead just as easily.

'You,' he spat at a regular he nearly trusted, 'run this, make sure nobody steals or you'll pay.' Then he ran, knocking against the walls as he burst out into the smoke-choked yard, frantically scanning for Antonio, needing his breath of safety and warmth more than oxygen.

'Antonio!' he cried, panic choking up through his throat. 'Antonio! Oh my fucking God, _Antonio_ , damn it, where are you?'

'Romano!' Strong arms wrapped around him and gathered his stiff, straining limbs up, holding him in an embrace until he broke, burying his choked noises in his chest. 'Romano, what happened? Did they threaten you?'

He wished they had. He wished they'd only had the empty words of guns and jails, because Lovino had stopped caring.

'You,' he whispered, still gasping. 'Antonio. They said you're doing something...something at the border. Today.'

'I'm usually at the border, Romano.'

'Don't give me that shit!' Lovino tried to wrench himself away, but he couldn't. Antonio released him with a broken expression and he pushed away even though it made a huge gaping emptiness open up in his chest. 'I know you, Antonio. You're doing something different today.'

He expected Antonio to laugh, his face melting into that familiar, wonderful expression, to kiss him and assure him everything was okay, everything would be okay. But Antonio just looked away, and in that tiny motion, Lovino's whole world broke again.

'No! God _damn_ it, Antonio, you can't die!' He grabbed his shoulders, trying to shake sense into him, into his sad spring green eyes. 'You can't!'

'I don't want to die, mi corazon,' he whispered. His hands stilled Lovino's and pulled him closer. 'I am so scared of death. I don't want to lose you, Romano, ever again, not when I have you now.'

'Then don't.' He pressed against the soft fabric of his shirt and breathed in his scent of spice and sun. Tears were dripping down his cheeks. 'Stay here with me. You promised...promised you wouldn't need to take pictures in twenty years.'

'I would, though. If you'd let me.' Antonio kissed his forehead. 'You're so beautiful.'

'Stop,' Lovino gasped, burying himself closer, trying and trying to tear himself into so many shattered pieces like dust to fill the break in their hearts. 'Stop. Stop.'

'I love you, Romano,' Antonio whispered against his eyelids. 'I love you so, so much.'

'Stop!' Lovino shoved him away and stood there wishing the world would crack open to match him. 'You're a fucking revolutionary!'

'I am.'

His body burned cold and his breathing was still rasping painfully in his throat. He wanted Antonio to scream back, to tell him he'd always known he was a traitor and a spy, but he only looked at him with such a soft love that Lovino felt worse.

'I will pull down the Wall,' he said, so sure and confident that Lovino believed him entirely for half a second.

And then he smiled, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and was gone. Lovino fell to his knees with his last words on his lips.

 _My name is Lovino Vargas, and I love you_.

0o0o0o

Antonio wished he could have said he took it well. Everyone in this city knew the dangers of associating with artists. He knew, surely, he'd loved them before he'd joined. That's the thing, isn't it? Mathias had joked with him, lighting up a cigarette in the evening. We all know somebody who knows a wall jumper.

Or an artist, Antonio had said. The Dane had glanced at him and asked, what's the difference anymore?

He knew, so it shouldn't have hurt. But there was a difference between watching the Wall rise and falling in love with someone only to know it was impossible, and Antonio raged at his own stupidity and too-loyal heart, how it stuck in hazel eyes and sunlit bars. It was harder to fall back in love with the resistance then, but he tried, and he tried drinking himself blind, and he tried running down the streets until his mouth bled to stop thinking. Nothing worked. Nothing made his thoughts stop turning to Romano with beautiful hazel eyes, and he knew it would always be that way.

The reminders hurt. Mathias tried to keep him from it, but he didn't know. There was only so far one could get in a split city, and you found people again, like Lukas, from the film shop, who wore Mathias' driving gloves and spoke about Romano. The one person he wanted to see was lost to him forever, and Antonio wanted to stop thinking at all. That was why he accepted the mission.

He felt like Gilbert. It bit at him, and he tries to shake it off, but the image of his former friend flashed like a photograph in high relief. He could still remember his smile and the scent of his skin after their nights out.

The grainy concrete dug into his back. Beside him, Mathias stared out, lips chewed red. His pistol gleamed under his coat. When he looked back, nodding the all-clear, his face was flushed.

'You ready to tear down an empire, Antonio?'

'And watch it burn,' he said grimly, trying to stop from fidgeting. The weapons under his coat were bulky and awkward, but that wasn't what was gnawing into him.

Romano. Confusing, brilliant, infatuating Romano. He could have enough gunpowder to blow the whole Wall into powder and the most terrifying thing would still be remembering him. He could have the whole world and all he'd want of it was those hazel eyes.

'Antonio?'

He shook himself back to the mission, gritting his teeth. He had to focus. He had to stay alive, even though Mathias had warned him, weeks before when everything had been somehow less complicated, that they could die. Panic clogged his throat. He'd promised Romano he wouldn't. He had to see him again.

 _I will pull down the Wall_.

The terror of it was choking and irrational. He scrabbled in his pockets and finally found his camera. He pressed it in Mathias' hand.

'The Roman. The bar, you know? If I don't make it, tell Romano...tell him I'm sorry.'

But there was more to it. There were promises to be kept and years to come and a world for them that could die here. It would die here, in some part, because it felt like sweet, dangerous relief to be here and fighting. Next time they kissed, if they ever did, would Romano taste danger and adrenaline on his lips?

Mathias knew him well enough not to argue. He closed a fist around the camera and put it safely away.

'I will. I promise.'

'Thank you.' Antonio could breathe easier now. The guard would be passing now, and they ducked back behind the wall, aware of the nearby footsteps.

'If we blew that whole thing open for a moment.' Mathias stared up at the concrete. 'Would you run?'

'Only a madman wouldn't.' He forced a smile. He hadn't run. Romano was here.

'Don't be impolite, Toni.' Mathias laughed softly, still listening to the footsteps. 'We can't, can we? People say I'm being stupid. That the only thing I love is the- you know, being a hero.'

'Save that for the Americans,' Antonio muttered.

'I'll do it better anyways.' He winked as they silently slipped from behind the concrete block, creeping towards the wall. 'They need a real hero. Someone like-' He crouched beside him suddenly, body tense and sparking. 'Someone who's not afraid of it, right? With nothing left to lose. Just like us.'

They met eyes, and the humour drained from Mathias' face.

'Oh God, Antonio. You love him.'

'I know.' He dragged a hand across his face and wrapped his coat further around him. 'It's time to go.'

'But-'

'Go, Mathias!' he demanded. There was no time to argue. They started running, and Mathias swung his pistol out and fired a warning shot to the man who leaned out from the guard tower.

'You're covered, you're covered, go!'

Antonio pulled out the heavy knife and slashed at the last of the barbed wire, kicking it back from the exposed concrete foundations. Footsteps pounded closer. Mathias roared and fired another warning shot, and as Antonio pulled out the bottle of mixed fuels and dumped it over the rough grey, all he could think of was that Mathias had told him he hated wars. He ran, trying to put as much distance between the fuel and him, shouting something he couldn't understand at the Dane, who was slowly retreating from the guards, pistol up.

'Throw it!' Antonio finally shouted, the beat of his frantic running pounding through his head. Mathias scraped a match on his gun and hurled it back.

A soft whooshing sound, and then the crack of an explosion that Antonio could feel all along his back and up his spine. Mathias tipped his head back and screamed, a haunting, jubilant, terrible cry. Everyone was frozen for a moment, slow-motion as the Wall broke, a gap in the impenetrable armour. Mathias stared, caught in the thrill for a half second. Antonio shoved him forward, gritting his teeth. They couldn't run, but he didn't blame him. They stumbled away. He tasted blood where he'd bitten his tongue. Mathias' face was wet, tears streaking down from one eye. He turned to him, wild and alive, and looked so much like Gilbert that Antonio had to look away. His mouth was moving, but Antonio's ears were ringing too much.

He thought the flicker was a blackbird in the beginning, but then his hazy vision cleared and the shape became guns and uniforms. There was another gap through the barbed wire here, and he could see West guards. One raised his head and stared right at him.

Pull down the Wall.

Mathias raised his pistol, a defiant set to his jaw, and Antonio stopped him.

'Go,' he said. Mathias' face twisted, and then his eyes went wide.

'No. You don't mean…'

'Go! They don't want you. I caused this.'

'Antonio, don't be fucking stupid!' Mathias' face blazed with anger. 'You have someone. You have to stay alive for them.'

'Go!' Antonio screamed, and Mathias stumbled back. His eyes were wet again. They stared at each other for a second, and then he leaned in, mouth brushing his ear.

'I think- I think I have someone. You met him. Lukas.'

Antonio nodded, and held him closer for a breath before shoving him back. Mathias ran, and this time he didn't look back.

The West guards were closer. The thump of the boots was louder. Not one left to chase Mathias, and he went slack with relief.

'Antonio?'

The word broke his reverie, and he spun. Blue eyes, like someone had broken pieces off the sky and carved them into his sparing, hard face. A familiar face. Antonio's eyes fluttered, and his gaze slipped down his clean-cut jaw to the collar of his uniform. Always the uniform. It brought memories, his face, of laughing over drinks, knuckles and faces red. A thousand guiltless, hungry nights.

'Gilbert?' he said to the man whose eyes were bluer and held less mistakes, and then the boots found him and the world rolled back and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :: Calligraphy ink on textured paper


	7. Chapter Seven

The days blurred into grey and rust and the half-light through the bar windows, an endless cycle of guards and conduction workers and arguments, every part of him hurting for Antonio. He hadn't come back. He hadn't come back _yet_ , and Lovino would wait every day of those fifty years for him if he had to.

Sometimes things broke the haze. A resistance runner boy, guarded eyes still open and unknowing, buying too many cigarettes. He reminded him of Feliciano, safe behind the Wall, and Lovino pushed that away, too.

He found himself reaching for the cigarettes too often, or the rum, desperate for a hint of sun. He made himself put it away again. Antonio had to come back.

The runner boy came back again, instead, eyes and hands stiff and hard.

'I want to know something about someone.'

Lovino couldn't make himself feel more than disdain.

'Are you thinking of getting into the business with _them?'_ he asked sarcastically.

His eyes flashed and he raised his chin, cold disgust in every line of his expression. 'Of course not.'

'Of course not,' he said, swallowing all his furious shame and the feelings of not being worth anything. Antonio deserved more, that voice said, when he lay awake and tried to stop wanting. The runner boy was so much braver than him. 'Buy something first.'

He made his order on autopilot, hands moving, mind a thousand miles away.

'I want to know about someone who used to come here.'

His hands slipped, and a breath of panic, all his tension, spilled out before he could stop it.'If Braginsky sent- if you're looking for that fucking Wall guard again, I told you, I don't know _anything_.'

'I'm looking for an artist. His name is Mathias.'

Lovino stopped working. No. He'd thrown them out, shut that part of Antonio's other life out of his world and left the whole thing to burn itself to ash.

'He works with Antonio-'

'Get _out_ ,' he snarled, not caring about who could hear. He didn't want to hear this, not now, not ever, and as he slammed his hands down, he noticed faintly that his whole body was shaking. 'I fucking told him not to come back. I told all of them.'

'Hold on-'

'Get out!' Lovino screamed. Tears stung his eyes. 'If I see you in here again, I will call the police.'

He set down the glass, eyes guarded and empty against his, and left. Lovino picked up his cloth again, breath rasping hard enough to hurt. No more resistance that he could report on. No more of ruining something truly brave.

The days stretched. In the silence Antonio's singing had left behind, music reminded him too much of every touch and kiss. Before Antonio, he wouldn't have cared, and he never would have realized what was playing on the old jukebox. He'd traded his good tables for it in a moment of impulse, and regretted it ever since. Still, he couldn't not recognize that song, whispering up his neck like kisses.

 _Fame and fortune_ , it crooned, _are only passing things_ , and Lovino thought of brown curls flopping into green eyes and calloused warm hands and too many promises to keep.

'Turn that off,' he snarled, twisting a cloth until it was stiff between his hands. People's conversations trailed off. 'The jukebox. Turn it off.'

'Why?'

'Off or I'll throw you all out right now.' He was being too rash again, but he could not find it in him to care any longer. He kept his eyes on the bar until the chairs creaked and the jukebox clicked off. Lovino wanted to crumple in on himself and tear at his walls, break things and feel barbed wire breaking beneath his hands. His hands found the rum bottle again and he only barely managed to set it down.

The jukebox stayed off after that. It was easier, as close to easier as anything was. There were reminders, of course, mad Americans who crooned Elvis, but it wasn't _their_ song. Lovino ignored them and tried his best not to listen.

He wrote notes for informing and hid them deep under the counter, wracked with guilt and hate and a flicker of resignation. Everything felt like his fault, and some days it crashed into him like a tidal wave.

In the spaces between the dull pain and the sharp pain, he dreamed of a different life, imagined telling Ivan he was leaving, take Antonio's hand and escape anywhere but here. It was a stupid plan, a foolhardy, dreaming plan.

0o0o0o

When Antonio woke up in the rambling old building, he thought he was dead. The pain made him wish he _was_ dead. Mathias' worried face stared down at him, blanched white.

'Oh my fucking _God_ , Antonio,' he said. Dark shadows ringed his eyes.

'Mathias,' Antonio croaked. His friend laughed, disbelieving and choked.

'Now that I know you're alive, I should kill you right now for that act you pulled.'

'Had to.' His throat was dry, and his head hurt, but he couldn't stop smiling. Mathias handed him a cup of water. 'We're alive, aren't we?'

'You almost weren't. I thought...Jesus, Toni. We can't lose you, too.'

'Last one left out of the three,' he cracked, but it fell flat. Francis was safe, and he envied him, some days. Gilbert was dead to him. He didn't know if he envied that. He shouldn't have had to think about it.

They stayed in silence, and Mathias dragged a hand through his hair.

'That officer. He saved you.'

'Ludwig did?' Antonio raked a hand through his hair too, grimacing at how it felt, exhausted already. 'How?'

'I don't know how. Just looked the guards in the eyes and said to leave. And they did.' He half-smiled. 'Born commander. Gilbert must be proud.'

Antonio didn't say about the rumours, that he'd thrown him out for loving men. _Filthy fucking hypocrite_ , like they hadn't spent a summer in Spain, him and Francis and Gilbert, all three of them trying out kissing.

'How long have I been out for?' His head throbbed. Mathias looked grateful to change the subject.

'Not too long. Just rest up.' His hand drifted to the camera lying on the bedside table, heavy with implication. 'I don't want to see what you did happening again, Antonio. We're a team.'

Antonio made a half-committal noise, looking away. 'You're the leader.'

Mathias grabbed his chin. ' _Listen_ to me. You'll never do that again. Don't act the hero. Don't act like Gilbert.'

He jerked away. Mathias sat back, blue eyes creased. That ended him and they both knew it, staring across the heavy air between them. That was why he was the leader now, Antonio thought. He could be ruthless, but he wasn't _brutal_ like Gilbert had been. Gilbert would have pushed him to break and beyond that, and Antonio was used to that. To be let go like this felt stranger.

Mathias stood up and paced, never meeting his eye, nervous energy rattling off him.

'I'm sorry.' He wasn't, not completely. He shouldn't be. Antonio didn't respond.

'Lukas,' he said once their tension had faded. With Gilbert, it never faded, just stayed crackling in the air like storm clouds around his hurricane. Mathias _lit up_ , he couldn't help it.

'I think I'm seeing him again soon.'

Antonio grinned and tried to prop himself up, stopping when his side made him hiss. Mathias grimaced sympathetically.

'They got you, didn't they? You're a sight.'

'Bet it'll get me all the guys, right?' Antonio rolled onto his back, a fluttering reminder in his chest through the pain. There was really only one he wanted. 'Do you think…'

'I don't make a habit of it.'

'Shut up,' Antonio said. Mathias snickered. 'I want to go see Romano again.'

The humour fell away from his face. 'Not yet. We've got another raid planned.'

'How soon?'

'A few weeks. Maybe less.' Mathias sat down again and clucked his tongue, examining the bruises. 'Those guards don't know mercy. Wish I'd been able to go after them.'

'It's fine.' Antonio resisted the urge to touch the bruises and the cut he could feel on his nose and pushed back the curl of longing. He would keep fighting, and then when he could go back to Romano, they'd be safe.

Some part of him knew that was mad. They couldn't pull down the whole Wall in weeks. He couldn't think that way, though, and focused instead on Mathias, pacing again, head lost in plans.

'Just rest. We need you back out soon.' His back was straight and his eyes glinted. With the wild hair, he looked like a brooding tempest.

'Yes, sir,' Antonio said, only half-joking.

When Mathias left, he sat back and prodded at his bandages. Boot marks. Only a few had bled properly, but one of his ribs felt bruised. He sank into his thin blankets, feeling exhausted. Music was crackling softly through the radio set on the door, and Antonio closed his eyes to listen.

Somewhere in a run-down house with crooked floors and a makeshift lock, a house that wasn’t even his, a friend's if you can call it that, Antonio listened to every song except the one that twisted his heart and made him forget what breathing was.

Gilbert had once sworn up and down that he met someone who played music that could make your heart stop beating, and Antonio had laughed and passed the bottle, assuming it was more of his exaggerations. But now he knew better, knew how foolishly soft some human hearts can be, and how his heard a whisper about _fame and fortune_ and he thought-

Narrowed hazel eyes, dark hair and muscled physique underneath his shirt. The wary, weary look of someone who knew the streets too well. Deft hands, mixing, gesturing, wound in his. A smile.

Romano, who wasn't his, but oh God, he could wish.

Antonio leaned out, ribs twinging, and shut off the radio, wondering with a different, deeper ache where and what Romano was doing. If he was thinking of him. Strange hearts, they had.

After a few days, he couldn't stand it. Mathias couldn't come to check on him often, but he came back breathless and tense, planning their next attack, _they'll never know what hit them, Toni, we're gonna_ break _them_. Full of danger and adrenaline, just like Gilbert had loved it. When he spoke like that he could believe it too, could get caught up in the energy. But in the time between, he was left alone with a fuzzy head and bruises and too many thoughts about Romano. Fear and loss grew in the dark spaces until he wrenched himself from bed, determined to do something to remember.

The film shop was quiet at this time, and his head was throbbing. Memories flashed behind his eyelids.

'I need you to develop this,' he rasped, holding out the camera, memory in photograph form. His fever seemed to be getting worse, and he thought he could hear Romano's laugh.

'When will you be back for it?'

'No,' he said before he could process the question. He tried to laugh. The world swayed. 'I just need you to develop it. I'll be back it some day. Maybe. Please, I just need to develop it. I've got money.'

He had to do this, to do anything. If he died, Romano would know what happened and how much he'd loved him.

'I'll do it for free. What's happening?' He sounded alarmed. Antonio didn't blame him.

'Nothing.' Nothing he would ever be able to explain in this time. _I am in love_ and _I want to keep him safe but that's impossible_. Shadows flicked through the windows. 'You'll keep the pictures here?'

'I'll do it, but Antonio-'

'Someone might come by,' he interrupted. He needed to finish before the fever took him. 'Romano. You know him? He has a curl that never lies flat, and-'

His beautiful eyes and mouth in the golden light, smiling and proud, brilliant-

'Hazel eyes,' he murmured. 'I didn't know he had hazel eyes. The streetlights here make them look darker.'

'Antonio, what are you doing?'

'The right thing.' He allowed himself a smile. 'What I shouldn't do. What I can't dare to do.'

'The Wall?' He sounded entranced.

'You can't stop me.' Nothing could.

'I know. You know the cost.'

They'd all paid hell to keep living. Antonio's head hurt, a persistent throbbing in his temple. He liked Lukas, from when they'd met before. He didn't have the haunted look of someone who was a resistance fighter, and he was glad for that, but he still stood by them. Antonio faintly smiled at his gloves. Mathias' gloves.

Just when he was going, Lukas spoke again, more urgent.

'Did you know Gilbert?'

Antonio slumped against the door frame, trying to think of a way to say it. He did, once. Maybe.

'I thought I did. You make easier friends in good weather.'

'What was he like when you knew him?'

 _Brilliant_ and bloodthirsty and brutal. The only person who could convince him to live when the wars loomed, _any god damn way we can, Toni, we don't die here_. Hurricane Gilbert, who he'd saved.

'I think I loved him once. Because he was fearless and powerful and made everyone else feel the same way.' He heard the words like an echo.

'I know.'

He shook himself out of his memories. No more remembering who they used to be. That was a story better for old letters and dreams. 'Make sure you fall in love with the right people.'

'How do you know they're right?'

'Because the world makes sense around them. Because you'd give anything for them. You understand, don't you? How much someone can mean to you, and how you can't stop yourself loving them even when you need to?' He resisted the urge to touch his mouth, tingling with a remembered kiss. He half-smiled for Lukas. 'I can see it on your face.'

He liked Lukas. Really. Even if he looked like he wouldn't understand how dangerous Mathias' life was until too late. Antonio locked his feelings back up and offered to drive him to the bar, then went back to his sickbed and the stash of Danish schnapps and rum, drank himself senseless to stop thinking of the future, any kind. _Romano, what would you think of me_ , he wondered, slipping through fever dreams where he could almost hear his voice.

He'd still wait for a better day fifty years from now, but today he was just Antonio, wounds and old scars and fuzzy head and memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :: Watching the streetlights go out in the morning


	8. Chapter Eight

It wasn't Mathias' fault when his side of the raid went bad all at once. Antonio had just slipped through the arms storehouse window and started laying a fuse when the guard had found him. He should have easily thrown him down and knocked him out with his own rifle butt; hadn't he done that a dozen times before? What stopped him was that the boy- just a _boy_ , a conscripted, starving gun fodder boy- had wide hazel eyes and Antonio was frozen in memory for the half second it took for him to catch the muzzle of the gun in the chin. He staggered back up and threw him to the ground, looking away when those hazel eyes rolled back.

He laid the fuse and hauled the boy's body out of danger. Gilbert would have sneered at him for it. _The only good Red is a dead one_ , he'd have said. Antonio agreed.

The explosion rumbled behind him, throwing him to his hands and knees. The world swayed and spun, and Antonio dropped his head between his arms and dry heaved, eyes stinging with smoke. The gun had done something bad, or maybe it was the explosion or the loneliness or his fury at his own stupidity.

Deft hands pulled him back up and slung his arm over their shoulder, heaving his empty body back to safety. Antonio caught the boy's gaze, eighteen years old and with dark narrow eyes that had seen too much.

'Keep moving,' he mouthed through the haze of sound. His long straight hair was tied back and pinned under a hood, and he'd pulled a scarf over his mouth. Antonio wrestled his own scarf up and glanced back at the thin column of smoke rising from the old building.

They collapsed behind the concrete shell of an unfinished building. Out here in the urban sprawl of Berlin, nobody would be around to finish it. Nobody was around to see them, but they both huddled close with starving wary eyes. You didn't lose the look of being hunted no matter how long it had been. Antonio couldn't lose his love, either, even when it endangered him.

'Is this why they say we can't fall in love?' Antonio asked, crumpling back and gazing up at the endless blue skies. 'That, and because they'll be the ones paying the price for this?'

'You're bleeding,' the boy say, quietly wrapping his jaw with a strip of white cloth from his pocket. Antonio let him work. His hands shook, and he gently grabbed his wrist.

'You understand, don't you?' he insisted. His head was full of smoke and he didn't know if he thought the words or spoke them. 'You've got someone? I do.'

A pause, where his eyes went wide and shining dark, and he looked more like the child he was. He broke their gaze and tied off the bandage. 'I do,' he said. 'But you can't tell anyone.'

'Who would I tell?' Antonio joked, smiling and licking the taste of copper blood off his teeth.

'You could tell his brother.' He eyed him for a second, a mix of amusement and guardedness in his expression. 'He doesn't even know about me yet.'

Antonio stared at him in awe, his jumbled thoughts finally smoothing away. He was impressed and _envious_ that he'd figured it all out so young, but terrified of what the world would do to him.

'Well,' he said, 'it can't be much more dangerous than joining a resistance. Can it?'

'It's not like I could stop loving either one,' he said. He sat down and Antonio radioed Mathias and they watched the grey smoke pour like a great coiling dragon together.

Their headquarters was crowded with heated bodies hours later, congratulating themselves in a fiercely weary way. Antonio's bruises had dulled and he softened the rest of the edges with a vodka. The boy was fiddling with a bracelet, elegantly made but simple. He moved over to let Antonio sit down.

'Is it yours?'

'Not really. It's for him.' His face lightened suddenly, ecstatic. Antonio wondered if he looked that happy when he talked about Romano.

'Are you going to give it to him?'

'It's not done yet,' he said, exposing the unfinished weaving. He looked nervous and delighted, and Antonio could only stare. He wanted a world where he could be that happy in the open. 'I really hope he'll like it.'

'I'm sure he will.'

Mathias interrupted him, gently cuffing him on the shoulder.

'A word, Columbus?'

He rose, brushing the boy's shoulder gently as he continued his weaving. Mathias took off his coat for once, draping it carefully across a chair before stretching out his arms, pulling at the collar of his shirt with a groan. The scars Antonio could see from his collar stood out harsh and pale against his flushed skin.

'You're holding up?' he asked in a low voice.

'Got scraped on my jaw,' Antonio said, gesturing. 'A few burns. Nothing serious.'

'I know what's going on here,' Mathias said, slapping his shoulder. He leaned forward and tapped his chest, right over his heart. 'What's going on in here?'

Antonio sagged in his chair, refusing to meet his curious blue eyes. 'I'll be okay.'

'Antonio, I can't have you getting hurt for him,' he said. 'That's the rule here, we work in a way that won't hurt anyone but ourselves. You can...you could go, if you wanted, go with him. I won't be angry.'

'No!' Antonio stood up in surprise and shock. The headquarters broke from their whispering to look around, and he sat back down harder than he meant to. The idea appealed to him in quiet ways, but he couldn't stop fighting or the loneliness would swallow him whole. 'Kalmar, _no_. You know I can't leave this.'

Mathias looked up at him, chin resting on one forearm, eyes distant. Antonio sighed in frustration and combed his fingers through the tangled scruff of his hair. There was still ash in it.

'Sorry,' Mathias said with a slight smile. 'Still getting used to this leadership stuff. I get it, okay? I get it. But I don't want Romano to wake up with you gone because of me.'

'I don't die that easy,' Antonio assured him, even though the very mention of Romano made him feel fragile and shattered and somehow stronger than anything.

'You better not. You're one of my best assets. Plus, you're my favourite wingman.' He winked, but there was none of his usual mirth in it.

'What's wrong?' Antonio demanded, knowing Mathias' stubbornness. He sighed.

'There was a kid,' he said. 'He came to find us- it was while you were healing up- and God knows why or how, but I let him stay. Because he had that _look_ in his eyes that he was ready to take up mouthfuls of the regime and spit it back out. If he'd been older, I would have let him join. But he was just a kid.'

'Oh.' Antonio barely stopped himself from scanning the harsh, familiar faces for one that shouldn't be there. Mathias laughed hoarsely.

'He's gone now. I wouldn't let him do the raid. God, I would have shot myself right then and there if I'd let a kid fight our fights. I'm not a goddamn Red, I make sure their voices have finished cracking before I make them hold a gun.'

He stopped abruptly, the air thick in their throats. Antonio thought he could hear the boy whistling a quiet birdsong as he worked on the bracelet.

'A kid with other options, at least,' he said quietly.

There was no more to say. The war and Wall had shoved them to their breaking points and this was how they'd chosen to respond. Some drank themselves into stupors, some threw away their inhibitions, some took up the Soviet uniforms and traded in their secrets. Antonio despised those ones most of all. But no matter what, it wasn't a fight for the innocent.

'Give my share of the food to the kid sitting over there tonight,' Antonio said, standing up. Mathias didn't protest.

'Where are you going to be eating?'

'I'll figure it out.' He fingered the few coins in his pocket. What they'd stolen from the facility would have paid for more than enough for a good dinner, but he wasn't hungry. Not for food. For hazel eyes and a curling smile and freckled tan skin, yes, always, in a deep-sunk way. For a better world some decades in the future, he _starved_ for it.

Mathias was studying him, brows drawn. He pushed Antonio gently towards the door.

'Go out tonight,' he said. 'Forget about the raid for tonight. You did well.'

He'd forget about more than that, Antonio thought. As he left, he saw Mathias rise to speak, and the boy turn towards him with attentive wide eyes, the bracelet still wound through his unscarred fingers.

0o0o0o

Lovino closed the bar earlier and opened it later, or as soon as he was able to wrench himself from his bed every day and find the energy to go downstairs.

The rest of the time when he wasn't sleeping or staring at his ceiling and thinking of Antonio, he went out and drank wine and rum and chased impossible highs in girls' mouths. It was a dirty, obsessive habit that crawled under his skin and whispered of everything he'd lost, green springtime eyes and earnest smiles and singing. There was no question of him informing any longer. He could barely pour a drink.

He knew Antonio didn't go to his usual haunts. He knew Antonio was off being the most impossibly brave person in the world, that he was fighting to pull down the Wall.

Sometimes he thought that Antonio could have died, been wiped from existence with nothing more than a stray bullet and he wouldn't have known. Those days, he didn't get out of bed at all.

He _knew_ Antonio was far away, and so when he stepped into a bar already dizzy and with a mouth tasting like ashes and saw him at the bar, the world stopped spinning right and Lovino forgot how to breathe. He looked like a wreck, bruised and starved thinner and hollow-eyed, but seeing him felt like at least one of the broken things inside had started to heal. He wasn't dead. He wasn't _gone_.

'Toni,' he said into the heated air, cracking in his smoke-filled throat. Just saying his name felt like forgiveness. 'Antonio, Toni, oh my _God-'_

And he heard, and turned around, and his beautiful green eyes widened. He ran for him and Lovino could do nothing but hold on and breathe in the scent of spice and sun. They were nothing but twisted muscle and thudding hearts beating in tune, pulling them close. It felt right, simply. Everything felt right.

'Roma,' Antonio breathed. His hands had vicious burns over the backs and Lovino twined their fingers together and nearly kissed the wounds before he remembered where they were, and with an effort, let go.

'Walk with me?' Lovino asked, holding back the rest of his frantic, breathless words about how much he loved him, how much he _craved_ the way they touched.

Berlin was a city people had made out of nothing and breathed life back into it from the ashes too many times to count. For the first time, walking in the moonlit streets with Antonio, Lovino thought it could be beautiful.

'Antonio,' he said again, holding onto his hand so tightly he thought it must hurt. He loosened his grip, concerned about his burns, but Antonio pulled them both to his lips and kissed his palm. His eyelashes were sparkling with tears.

'Romano,' he responded, a plead and an answer to everything and a crooning endearment all at once. How was it that his false name could sound so sweet in his mouth?

He opened his mouth and what came out way harsh and gasping and desperate. He _wanted_ Antonio, in some wild primal way, wanted to feel his warmth and feel teeth and nails know every part of him, and yet the simple curve of his neck and tilt of his eyes still drove him mad.

'I missed you so _much_. I thought- I was worried that- Antonio, I thought you'd _died_.'

'I didn't. I'm here now, Romano, I promise.' He held him close. Lovino noticed how thin he was under his coat, how his ribs pushed against his palms. There was another burn on his collarbone.

'You idiot,' he breathed, kissing just below the new wound. Antonio smiled weakly against his hair.

'You can touch, _mi corazon_. I'm not worried that you'll ever hurt me.'

The words sent another pang through him. He kissed the burn as gently as he could and Antonio shivered. His calloused hands drew patterns on Lovino's back and nape, impossibly intimate.

Lovino leaned up and kissed him on the mouth chasing the taste of sun and rum.

'I love you,' he said. His eyes were stinging with tears again, and this time when he kissed him Antonio returned it with the same hunger that lingered beneath his own skin, pressing him back against the brick wall and sliding their bodies together.

'I love you too,' Antonio told him, kissing his eyelids. 'I love you so much.'

'Stay,' Lovino pleaded, too far gone to care about the Wall or the future. All that existed was now, against the smoky bricks with Antonio's hips against his and his mouth on his neck, and it was all he'd ever wanted. 'Stay with me, _please_.'

'I can't.' Antonio kissed his forehead in apology. 'I want to, I want you so much.'

He closed his eyes, tasting salt. His skin prickled all over and his heart thrummed.

'When can you come back?'

'I don't know. But I'll always return for you, Romano. I promise.'

'You and your promises,' Lovino grumbled. He kissed his burned hands again, wishing he could share his pain.

'I promise I'll make things better for you,' he said. Lovino _believed_ him. It was Antonio, his Antonio saying it, and he believed it.

'I'd love that,' he said, completely honestly.

Antonio smiled like the sun. 'I'm glad.' He brushed his hair back, and shook his head as if in disbelief. 'I wish I could take a photograph of you now.'

'Why?'

'Because I want you to know how beautiful you look. You're who I fight for.'

He couldn't help smiling back, amazed by all of him. 'Idiot.'

'I mean it!' He laughed and Lovino thought he could listen to it forever, but he grew serious again. 'There's a film shop a few streets down. The shopkeeper there has my camera. I left it there for you.'

'Why?' Lovino asked, before it hit him. Antonio had thought he was going to die. He clapped a hand over his mouth, horror welling in his throat. 'No! Oh God, Antonio, what did you do?'

'Too much and too little,' he said with a tired smile. 'I'll tell you about it another time. I have to go soon.'

Lovino wound hands in his hair.

'Just- just a little longer,' he pleaded.

Antonio nodded. He cupped Lovino's face and studied him before kissing him slowly. It was like liquid warmth and gentleness soaking through every part of him.

For a few minutes there was nothing but fluttering pulse and heat and Antonio's gasps against his neck. Lovino nearly collapsed, but Antonio steadied him, green eyes gleaming with promise and love.

'I'll be back as soon as I can,' he said. He adjusted his clothes, kissed his forehead one final time, and left.

Lovino went home more sober than not for the first time, except he couldn't be considered lucid with Antonio's kisses making him lightheaded.

He collapsed into bed without taking off his clothes and pulled out an old letter from his brother, one that felt like it was a million years and an entire other city apart from now. He felt like a revolutionary, felt like there was fire in his blood and words. He wanted to do something, anything, and for the first time his fear of the colonel was replaced by exultant challenge. He was going to do what he should have done in the beginning.

'I'm going to leave the Stasi, Feli,' he told the writing, and then went to stare out the window at the hulking Wall. 'I'm leaving and I'm never going back.'

In the morning, he woke up and for a second still expected Antonio to be next to him like he'd dreamed. He wasn't, and it settled into him like a smooth cold stone.

He got out of bed. Yesterday's energy had become a fierce conviction, and for the first time in weeks he felt like he could do more than push himself to barely survive.

He started working on his accounts, managing money for the bar and overhead expenses and his own life, wrapping himself in numbers until his head spun. He had to make sure that he could survive without the Stasi. He would, even if the bar didn't pay nearly as well.

If he made a mistake, the knowledge hovered at his fingertips that there were no second chances. The Red Army wouldn't think much of just another dissident to dispose of. He was not going to die in the attempt. He couldn't do that to Antonio, not when they were so close to something better.

By midday, the sun was slanting in through the window and his eyes were sore and his hand had a cramp. Lovino felt better than he had in weeks. He was scared, too, scared absolutely senseless, terrified he'd mess something up and get imprisoned or worse. The fear woke him up and sharpened his frustration into purpose. He appreciated even more what Antonio had been doing for so long, every adrenaline-rushing second of it. In the end, the one thing he was scared for most of all was Antonio. He could still die out there, and the only thing that kept him from retreating back into his thoughts was the burning need to work.

He carefully hid his papers and went for a walk. The film shop wasn't too far away.

He opened the door and the shopkeeper looked up. It was the resistance's runner boy, wearing a new scarf. He looked different. Happier.

'Anto- he said he left you photos,' Lovino said. He couldn't make himself say his name. Everything felt far too fragile.

He brought him the photographs, and Lovino turned them over, awed by the art of them. Was this how Antonio had seen him? Some beautiful sunstruck thing with a smile full of secrets?

Oh, he wanted to be with him, so much it hurt.

'His camera,' he added in a rush, desperate for more. 'Did he leave it here? Can I have it?'

Lukas gave it to him, and Lovino held it carefully, drinking in all the things about it that made up his Antonio. It was worn smooth with handling and the leather was fraying and it was covered in signatures. _Carpe diem!_ was scrawled across the front. It sang with Antonio's touch. Holding it felt like being closer to him in some way.

'You idiot,' he whispered to the plastic casing, wishing Antonio was there with him.

'Romano,' the man suddenly interrupted. His false name felt so utterly wrong that Lovino straightened his back, carefully placing the precious items in his pockets. For a terrifying second, he was completely aware of the possibility of his death less than days away. All he could do was face it with more honour than he had as a spy.

'My name is Lovino,' he said, those dangerous words feeling like forgiveness. He raised his head. 'Lovino Vargas. Remember that. Tell Antonio…'

If he died, that handful of words would never suffice to say all the things he'd been too cowardly to say before. He wanted to promise things that he didn't know the names of, secret happinesses and their own kinds of heaven. He could, if he survived.

'...if you see him again,' he finished.

The man gazed at him. Lovino wondered if he hated him. He should. However, he caught the faintest flicker of respect there. He nodded, stepping back.

'Someone should know, at least,' he said, before he left. Back at home, he looked through the photographs of birds with sunlight through their wings and the shining expanse of downtown and him, always him, laughing and happy in ways he'd never seen himself. He looked like someone worthy of Antonio.

He clutched the photos to his chest as he fell asleep, smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :: Laying down in the grass beside a fountain to listen


	9. Chapter Nine

Lovino threw open the doors to the bar earlier than he had for months, feeling finally, finally awake again. His normal patrons filed in, looking wary and possibly amused. Lovino couldn't care about what they thought.

'Turn on the jukebox,' he invited. Someone cautiously leaned over and did so, and Lovino grinned into the familiar, crooning strains. He'd missed music, and it no longer hurt to hear it.

' _Fame and fortune_ …'

During lulls, he ducked out back to burn up his Stasi notes with his cigarette lighters, viciously delighted in the ashes. Fire was a good way to clean all of this away, burn this piece out of his life completely.

During one of the breaks, he found a fluttering scrap of paper tacked to the wall that hadn't been there before. He tore it off and saw grease pen handwriting, curling and sketchy, familiar as his pulse and the leather of a camera.

_Saturday, three PM?_

Lovino tucked the scrap into a pocket over his heart and laughed into the wild wind, feeling free, free, free.

It wouldn't all be as easy as that. Lovino found himself in front of the mirror on Saturday, blinking the sleep from his eyes, stunned into stillness by his own slight smile. He wasn't pretty, God knows nobody had ever seen him that way, especially compared to Feliciano. Especially now. His hands were cracking around the knuckles from staying up so late working, he was swaying on his feet and his nightmares crept in the edges of his blurry vision.

Nobody except Antonio, and somehow, despite doubts having long ago taken up residence in every part of him, he was sure, wonderfully and forever, that Antonio would still love him like this, and even more with the smile. He'd wanted to see it, even if it took another twenty years, but Lovino would give it to him now, just in case. Just in case he didn't want him after Lovino told him about being a spy, and why would he?

Lovino leaned his forehead against the cracked and ashy mirror, a shattering laugh trapped in his throat. He didn't care. Somehow, he couldn't care, even though all his nightmares were of Antonio's earnest green eyes going hard and angry, of that warm voice spitting out his real name with the word _traitor_. He loved him too much to stop. And wasn't that the final fatality of love? When you loved somehow that much, how everything about them had twisted inside of you in beautiful filigree patterns and it was impossible to go back to the world before them. Lovino should hate it. He should hate Antonio for everything he'd done, the reckless bastard. But he couldn't.

He touched the note in his pocket again. He wanted to have one lazy, warm afternoon with Antonio, just one. And then he'd tell him, and kiss him and the Stasi goodbye forever. The future was stripped empty and free and that would have to be enough.

He closed the bar early and poured himself a glass of his good wine and slumped onto the table in the heat, toying with the photos of himself, wondering how, how, how Antonio had always seen him that way, wondering if he ever would again. His nervous, furious energy had smoothed into acceptance. He only wished he had longer.

The bell jingled. Lovino half-rose from his seat, heart in his throat. Antonio looked dusty and bruised and exhilarated, hauling his guitar through the door in the way he had when they'd first met. He had barely set it down when he spotted Lovino, and in the heartbeat of their eyes meeting Lovino could read all his love and bravery.

'Did I wake you?' Antonio asked, almost hesitantly. Lovino shook his head, his words stuck in his throat, needing to be with him more than anything. He stumbled up from his table, nearly knocking over the wine, and Antonio's arms were open and warm for him.

They held each other in the dusty sunlight for a long time. Antonio's chest shuddered with silent tears. Lovino was aware of his breathing and the feeling of his chest and his arms and the soft Spanish words he whispered against his neck. He could only catch the word _corazon_.

They finally broke apart and Lovino poured him a glass of rum with shaking hands before sitting down across from him at the bar, itching to be closer, closer.

'You got my camera?' Antonio asked, breaking the silence, and Lovino scoffed in surprise.

'Of course I did.' He carefully handed it over and after a moment, spread out the photographs. Antonio smiled as he looked at them.

'You look good, Romano.'

Lovino looked away, unwilling to hear his false name like that. 'Don't be stupid.'

'Romano.' Antonio's warm, calloused hand cupped his chin. 'Don't talk like that.'

'Talk like what? It's true, Antonio, _look_ at me and tell me-' He cut off abruptly, too aware of how much the Soviet regime had stripped away.

'I'll tell you the truth. You're beautiful.'

Lovino's head jerked up in surprise, and his eyes stung. 'Antonio-'

'You are.' Antonio laid his hands on the varnished dark table, palms up. His eyes shone with unshed tears. 'All of this, I do for you. The fighting, and the danger, and the resistance. I'd do it for you. For some better hope.' He tilted his head, eyes reflecting green and devoted. 'Romano, you are everything to me.'

 _Hope_. Lovino nearly laughed, throat thick with tears. Hope didn't exist in the East. It couldn't. But here in this sunlit, empty bar, Antonio was offering it to him. Antonio was giving him everything. The East had bent and broken people just enough, enough for cruel hope, for Lovino to lean closer, desperate for his touch. To keep their own hopes up was bad enough, but to be each other's…

Lovino kissed him with the sunlight slanting over their faces and Antonio's hands on his back, pulling him in, Lovino fishing hands in his dark curls, gasping and wanting and breaking open for light. For a moment while they connected, he forgot about the future again, and nothing existed except finally feeling whole again. He wanted to stay in that moment.

They separated slowly, breathing ragged.

'I love you,' Antonio whispered. Tears were pearling in his eyelashes. Lovino closed his eyes and pressed their foreheads together.

'I love you too.' He felt him smile, and playfully tugged his hair, swallowing a knot of emotion. 'Idiot.'

Antonio finally let him go to turn on the jukebox. Lovino sat back and watched him work. This time, instead of sitting across the room, Antonio picked up his guitar and moved closer until their knees were sliding together, strumming a gentle tune. Lovino knew the song, every note and word so much sweeter from Antonio. This time, it was all for him, only him, with the notes fading into the air and wrapping them up.

_'I know that I have nothing if you should go away, but to know that you love me brings fame and fortune my way...'_

At the end of the song, Lovino was itching to touch him again, and Antonio must have caught the glint in his eyes. He set the guitar aside and stood up.

'Come on, snake, let's rattle,' he teased, holding out his arms. Lovino raised an eyebrow at him and stepped gracefully into the invitation.

'Are you sure you can take me?'

'I'll find out.'

The new song was sultry hot and slipped down their spines with fire. Lovino felt like he could sink into Antonio's eyes and the love there. His skin was electric and his mouth felt bruised. Antonio sang the lyrics, swaying back and forth across the polished and creaking floorboards. Lovino let himself twirl across the floor, the only constant the music and Antonio's hands on him and the love, love, love under his skin.

Antonio suddenly dipped him, and Lovino nearly shrieked and grabbed for him, catching a handful of his shirt and feeling the muscles underneath. Antonio pulled him back upright and giggled, ridiculously, snorting and looking so pleased that Lovino kissed him again. This time, they let themselves meld against each other, so perfect it was like they'd been made for it. Lovino felt made for this, for Antonio's sunlight and smiles and hopeful futures. He wanted him, everything of him. His dreams and his fire and his fighting and his freedom, everything that had long ago sunk into him and become part of his heart.

The scratched wood of the bar dug into Lovino's back and Antonio's sun-warmed hands traced across him like prayer. Lovino abandoned his wine on the other side of the table and wrapped arms around him. He could drown in Antonio, in his poetry and his singing and the warmth of his skin. He ached for him.

They let themselves fall into each other, touching and learning each other in a way the East had taken before. Gentleness was a luxury in the East, and not one Lovino had ever thought he deserved. The hours hung like honey and warmth soaked through the air and against all his better instincts, Lovino found himself speaking for this beautiful, brave revolutionary, through a golden haze of wine and rum and love he shouldn't have.

'You're going to be a damn famous photographer some day,' he said, toying with the leather of the heavy camera. Antonio twisted curls of his hair in his fingers, and Lovino leaned back against his chest, gazing up. The sunlight sparkled amber in Antonio's eyelashes.

'I'd like that life.'

'You should…' He knew he had to tell him soon, as the golden hours wound down, but he clung to these last soft moments like the treasures they were. 'You should take these photos with you.' He nodded to the stack of them on the table.

'Why?'

'To remember me.' Lovino breathed in the sunny smell of his skin.

'Where are you going?' Antonio asked with a fond chuckle. Lovino had a sudden idea of hearing that in the morning, every day, and his throat went thick with emotion he wouldn't voice. 'It'll be okay soon. Eventually.'

'Don't tell me that everything will be okay,' Lovino muttered. It was coddling. He was the one who used to say that to Feliciano. He didn't need to be soothed, but he wanted Antonio to promise him that.

Antonio just smiled again and rested his head on his hair. Lovino closed his eyes and tried to make himself remember this moment for the colder future. He missed it and it wasn't even over yet.

'Take the photos,' he insisted, and Antonio tucked them into his pocket. Lovino traced a thumb over the bruises showing between his sleeve and his tanned wrist, his foolish love sparking in his skin and the hollow echo chamber of his rib cage. 'You need to take better care of yourself.'

'I should,' he agreed. Lovino couldn't meet his earnest gaze, but he knew exactly what it would look like, every quirk and tilt of his smile. He could dream poetry on his springtime eyes.

'Promise me you'll take care of yourself.'

'I don't get into trouble too big for us to handle,' Antonio said. He laughed and kissed his temple. 'But I promise I'll be careful. Why are you concerned?'

Lovino silently swallowed tears and refused to answer. 'I want you to kiss me, bastard,' he told him instead, and Antonio obliged. Lovino lingered in that kiss, trying to say goodbye to him the only way he knew how.

They paused for breath, foreheads leaning together. Antonio raised his glass to him in a silent toast, eyes crinkling with mirth. Lovino loved him so much, loved him like sunlight and happiness and all the things the Stasi had stolen once, and now was taking away again.

'I love you, Antonio,' he said softly.

'Romano,' Antonio breathed, mouth twitching towards that familiar smile, leaning closer. Lovino closed his eyes, forcing himself to turn away from his sunlight even though it felt so wrong to. If he was going to say it, he'd say it now with nothing left to lose and the taste of rum and kisses on his lips.

'My name isn't Romano.'

Antonio went still. Then, with terrible slowness, he set down his glass and moved back, and Lovino saw the realization forming in his eyes, the disbelief, the betrayal. Antonio would know, in the end, in this quiet broken end among the last sunbeams, that he deserved so much more.

'What is it, then?' he asked, so softly. His fingertips made gentle swirling patterns on the back of Lovino's hand.

'It's Lovino,' he rasped. Antonio's eyes were unreadable for the first time, and he looked away. He was a coward, but he couldn't care. Not anymore. Nothing mattered anymore except Antonio, always Antonio, and how he was lost to him. 'Lovino Vargas.'

'Lovino.' Antonio tested the word, and Lovino couldn't stand the sound of his real name suddenly. He thought the first time Antonio would say it would sound better, something crooned lovingly between kisses to palms. Something he'd be whispering during a night together, and the very thought made him hurt all the more. There would be no more love here, and there never should have been.

'Lovino.' His body was tense, hands shaking faintly as he tucked them carefully into his pockets, somewhere between moving to touch him and moving to get away. Lovino wanted to push him, scream at him, make him angry, make him understand. But he was quiet. 'Why would you need to use a code name?'

'You know why,' he whispered, tasting bile. Antonio looked at him like he had so many times before, through all his fear and pain into what Lovino had refused to acknowledge of himself. He had loved the way he did that, and now all he felt was shame, and hatred, and disgust at his own cowardice. He'd let Antonio open up his ribs and take his heart for ransom far too long ago, and it had only ever been his since then.

'You're an informer.' The words were simple, his voice quiet, unaccusing.

'I am.'

Lovino took his unwanted rum and downed it. The burn felt good.

'Why?' Antonio asked quietly.

'Feliciano.' Lovino couldn't look at him. He didn't understand why Antonio wasn't shouting or angry. 'I wanted to give him a better life, and this was the only way.'

'Did you…the resistance, have you…?'

'No, your resistance is safe.' His eyes were burning. 'I wouldn't tell the colonel that.'

He chanced glancing up. Antonio looked broken, utterly broken, and it was all his fault.

'You need to go,' he spat. Antonio reached for him, but he slapped his hand away. Antonio stood with the sun outlining his hair and hurt in his eyes and Lovino was so disgusted with himself he could barely draw a breath. 'Don't come back for me.'

'Romano,' Antonio began, and Lovino cut him off venomously.

'That's not my name.'

'Lovino,' he tried again, reaching for him, arms open. Lovino wanted to fall into his embrace and run with him somewhere the Stasi could never touch, somewhere safe and warm and free.

Instead, he shoved him away. His chest was hard under his palms, and in the split second, he thought he could feel his heart thrumming.

'Never come near me again!' he screamed. His love tingled on his tongue and threatened to spill. He could feel the tears on his eyelashes. 'I'm not going to be responsible for hurting you any longer.'

Antonio didn't move, only looked at him, eyes silently gleaming with tears. 'Lovino-'

'No,' he said. 'No. I won't. Swear to me you'll leave and never come back.'

'I can't,' Antonio said. His eyes shone with light. 'Lovino, I can't promise that.'

'You can and you will. Never come near me again,' Lovino hissed, breaking apart all over inside, cold and lost and empty. Antonio stared at him and closed his eyes slowly. Sunlight danced in his damp eyelashes.

'For you,' he whispered. 'I'd do anything. Any chance for you, _mi corazon_.'

'Promise me,' Lovino breathed. Antonio opened his eyes and looked at him for a long moment like he only saw sunlight inside.

'I promise,' he said, a hopeless man's prayer.

Lovino opened his mouth to say something, anything, a horrible, aching sound still trapped just behind his teeth.

'Get out,' he said, and it built to a terrible shriek of pain and terror. 'Get _out!_ I don't want to see you again!'

Antonio picked up his guitar and left, eyes lingering on his for a moment longer before he turned his back and disappeared into the grey.

Lovino stared at his hands and thought of blood and sun, red and gold, of Antonio, and buried his face in them and screamed his throat raw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :: Laughs that almost sound choking, speaking of relief and all the breaths held


	10. Chapter Ten

Antonio staggered back to the bar, weaving through the streets, head lost somewhere between the sound of confession and the time Mathias had joked with him about the tricks the Stasi had: smoke screens and heavy clips of marks and pretty girls, slipping their hands into pockets and leaving their knives.

Antonio was experienced with smoke screens, and marks were useless, and pretty girls were pretty but he guarded his heart well. The Stasi had their tricks, but he was quicker, he wouldn't fall for them.

Antonio fell for _him_.

Him. Romano, _Lovino_ , the name still unfamiliar- Stasi agent, hazel eyes and curling smile and summery heat, so beautiful it hurt. Antonio had loved him, _still_ loved him. Even here, with Lovino's confession still spinning in his head, his heart still stuttered for him, him, him. He had been so stupid, so lovestruck, so utterly _lost_ to him.

His name was _Lovino Vargas_ and his dark hair stuck up in a curl and he leaned against Antonio's shoulder and whispered to kiss him half an hour ago. The way his breath felt on the back of his neck made Antonio's head spin. Lovino, fascinating and beautiful and deadly, so deadly, because he was _Stasi_ , because he had eyes like sunset and hazel, and the soft curve of his lips- God he couldn't be thinking of this- made Antonio almost wish things were different.

Antonio had been taught _passion_ but this was a kind of passion gone all wrong; this city, this war, this _love_ was not supposed to involve Antonio and Lovino in some sunlit bar trading one too many secrets to be safe, tasting of rum with Lovino's broken voice rasping the truth next to his ear.

Lovino was his downfall, the Stasi's perfect trick, the one he never saw coming- not their money and pretty girls but just the softness in his eyes and his solar-powered smile that shattered all his safety and left him stripped down to just Antonio.

Lovino hadn't needed a knife. He had slid his fingers into Antonio's ribcage, snapping open the bones and took his heart for ransom and this was it, his blood payment. He'd give it, because he was Lovino's, because he was in love with Lovino even now.

Mathias threw the doors open later, the ache in his heart still threatening to split him wide open like a city, right down his chest, no matter how much he drank. Mathias shone, too bright on his eyes.

'Toni, you won't believe what happened with me and-'

He stopped dead, horror in his eyes.

'Antonio, what's wrong?' he demanded, clattering down beside him. Antonio laughed, or tried to, pressing his cheek to the wood, hating himself so much. Everything was wrong with him. He finished his latest bottle, chasing back the burn of the tears drying on his cheeks with the burn of vodka. _Stupid_ , he'd been so stupid. Mathias pried it from his grip and swept the rest of the bottles behind the bar, forcing him to meet his eyes. Antonio heard the words find their way out of his battered, burning throat.

'Romano's an agent.' He pressed a hand over his traitorous heart, feeling the outlines of photographs there that he couldn't throw away. 'His name is Lovino.'

Mathias went still. Antonio tightened his grip on his hand.

'The resistance is safe. I made sure.'

'And you believed him?' Mathias asked in disbelief, eyes hard and wild. 'He just _told_ you all of that?'

'Yes,' Antonio said. Mathias _snarled_ , lips pulling back enough to see his canines, jerking his wrist out of Antonio's slack hold.

'This is all my fault,' he spat, voice shaking slightly. 'God. Never should have let us fall in love.'

'He's good,' Antonio insisted from his haze, shocked at himself. Mathias barely glanced at him, every inch of him gone harsh. Kalmar, their firebrand, burning up.

'Go home, Toni. Come back when you've got your head on right.'

'Don't hurt him,' Antonio whispered. 'Please. I think- I _know_ he's different, Mathias.'

'I told you to go home.' Mathias stalked across the room and sat down to write. A necklace Antonio didn't recognize slipped from his shirt, and he brusquely tucked it away again. He was a creature of devotion like Gilbert had been, like Antonio was. They all were, just to different things.

He went to the bars instead. This time, Lovino didn't walk in and find him, pull him from the haze. Nobody did.

0o0o0o

Lovino walked to the colonel alone, wrung dry of tears and hurting too much to breathe. He had nothing left to lose. Feliciano was safe in the West and Antonio was gone to better things.

Braginsky was standing by the grey building with his soldiers, and their conversation trailed away as Lovino walked to them. They could kill him. They might, right then, but Lovino couldn't care any longer.

'Hello, little oriole,' Ivan greeted, pale eyes taking him apart, cold and burning hot. He subtly nodded, and his soldiers drew away out of earshot, watching like hungry wolves.

'I'm done working with you.'

Ivan cocked his head. 'We talked about this.'

'That was before.' Lovino raised his chin, empty of sunlight now, full of nothing but the winds whispering through the buildings. 'Antonio is gone. There's nothing you can do to me.'

The colonel was quiet, eyes glittering. 'Lovino Vargas,' he said finally, slowly, letting that breaking, hurting name hang.

'I'm leaving the Stasi. You and all of it can burn,' Lovino spat. His heart was pounding. 'One day, all of this will be nothing but a bad memory and I'll do everything I can to make that day come faster.'

He turned on his heel and walked away, head held high, drinking in the watery late autumn sunlight. It wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be.

The next weeks were quiet. Lovino ran the bar when he could get out of bed and smoked when he couldn't, more often than not. He left music and sunlight and love in a different world. He was empty, everything taken out of him- his brother, Antonio, dreams of the future. He kept the camera upstairs, safely locked away in a drawer. His heart was safe the same way, given to Antonio even now.

He expected the Stasi to come for him. When the uniformed men pushed their way inside his bar, he nearly welcomed it. They sat down and waited for the rest of his customers to hastily file out.

'Aren't you lucky, Lovino,' one of them said, leaning forwards across the bar. Lovino poured himself a shot of rum and threw it back. At least he'd go to his death with a memory of kisses on his lips.

'Indulge me. Why am I lucky?' he drawled. The other guard grinned.

'Not many people get to walk into this prison and back out again the same day.'

'Then why am I being jailed at all?' Lovino leaned back, idly tracing his fingers along the countertop. He doubted they would really let him go so easily, and he would miss this bar. It had served him well, even though it had never truly felt like his.

'Who said _you_ were being jailed?' The first guard bared his teeth, pupils blown wide. Fear jolted through Lovino. _Antonio_. No, they couldn't have-

'Don't bother. Antonio hates me now.' He'd made sure, he'd keep him safe this way. It was his last gift, the only good thing he ever did.

'We don't care about _him_.' The guard pulled out a cigarette and lit it deliberately, slowly. 'Don't you have a little brother?'

 _No_. They couldn't. They could kill Lovino for all he cared, but they would _not_ hurt Feliciano.

'What the _fuck_ did you do to him?' Lovino screamed, grabbing the guard's collar, dragging him closer. 'I'm going to kill you, do you _understand?'_

'Do it,' the guard hissed. His fallen cigarette smouldered on the counter. His eyes showed only a bare line of grey around the shimmering black. 'It won't be on _your_ head.'

Lovino shoved him away, feeling sick. His head swam.

'How?' he whispered. 'He was in the West. He was safe.'

The guard laughed, adjusting his uniform again, picking up his cigarette.

'All you need to worry about is behaving,' he warned casually. 'You won't make a scene, will you?'

Lovino closed his eyes, hating himself. His brother was in the East and it was all his fault.

'No.'

They led him to the prison and left him waiting in the steel and concrete corridor. What kept him from leaving was stronger than any chain. He snarled at the guards walking by from where he saf crumpled against the wall, feeling ready to split open. They would break him, but he wouldn't make it easy.

He wondered if that was why they sent Gilbert. The man looked like a ghost in the harsh lights, every inch of him starved sharp and high relief. Lovino looked him up and down, lip curling.

'I bet you're glad. You've moved up in the world. How many people did you sell out so you could move from the Wall to another prison?' he snarled. He hated this man, every inch of him. Filthy turncoat.

'They sent me here,' Gilbert answered.

'I could say the same.' Lovino pressed his face against his wrists, choking on apologies forever unsaid. 'It's my fault. This is all my fault.'

'They said you defied the Stasi.' Gilbert's eyes were bright, bright, some terrible angel who drank of war and blood. 'That a resistance group helped you. Was it...was it Antonio's?'

The sound of his name was pure memory, sunlight and spice and crooning music, _fame and fortune_. It was true: Antonio had shown him a world outside of the Stasi. He had given him hope.

He nodded, once, and Gilbert's bloody red eyes flickered, barely.

'Good.'

He took Lovino's arm and pulled him down the hall. It was as gentle of a touch that the East was capable of, and Lovino allowed it.

The guards waiting outside a set of doors grabbed him as Gilbert left.

'Would you like to see your brother?' one asked.

'Go to hell.' Lovino knew that his voice shook. He missed Feliciano so much, but he never wanted to see him like this. Not like this.

They took his arms to lead him into the room and Lovino wrenched himself away from them. He looked out into the room and saw his little brother sitting at the table, hands chained down.

'Feliciano?' he gasped, a raw noise of apology and need. The guards let go and the door shut, but all he could think of was Feliciano. He rushed to him, needing to be closer, needing to know they hadn't hurt him yet.

His brother's eyes were half-closed and dull. He looked broken already.

'Feli? Oh my God, I didn't think they would ever be able to hurt you.' He choked back tears, needing him to understand that he never meant any of it. 'You understand that, right? Feli, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.'

Feliciano finally met his gaze, and the depth of hurt there made Lovino feel sick. They must have told him about it all. The Stasi work, and that it was all Lovino's fault. It was as much as he deserved. His chained hands were pale with cold, and Lovino automatically reached to warm them like he'd done so many times before he made himself stop, and set them on the steel table instead. Feliciano shifted away, and Lovino swallowed back a knot of twisting pain. He deserved it. He deserved it all.

'I'm sorry,' he repeated helplessly.

'Why did you do it?' Feliciano asked. Lovino flinched, pointless words gathering in his throat, for Antonio or for the future or the simple truth of it in the beginning before it all.

'For you,' he said. Feliciano gazed at him with empty eyes, hollow eyes, his little brother utterly gone from him. The words spilled out in gasps. Lovino tasted salt. 'I had to. I thought the pay could make things better for you, that I could stop, but they wouldn't let me. I guess it doesn't matter anymore.' He blinked tears away, looking up at the lights. 'Nothing does.'

Feliciano turned away from him. Lovino stared, wondering how much they still looked alike, or if this had ruined them both.

'It doesn't,' he said quietly. With those two words, his brother hurt him worse than the colonel ever had. He knew he was right.

The guards came back to take him outside. Lovino didn't fight. He knew he wasn't free anymore. He staggered back to the bar, staring up at the prison windows until they were out of sight.

His bed was so quiet and lonely and he wanted Antonio's warmth in his arms with an ache that set deep, but they were not allowed, they were not together, they were not like that. Not anymore, and perhaps that's what made it hurt so much worse.

Thinking of before made it hurt. When his smile had made everything better and his voice and laugh and green eyes could stop his head from feeling like it was going to split open but Antonio wasn't here and wasn't Lovino's, not anymore, so he laid on his bed, clutching the camera to his too-soft heart, and thought of everything and nothing and how he'd failed Feliciano until exhaustion won over his fear of nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :: Being too distracted by someone else's laugh to speak


End file.
